The Other Side of the Coin
by Zennith6
Summary: Harry Potter, defeater of Grindelwald, has come to Hogwarts. Raised by Sirius Black and sorted in to Slytherin, Harry finds his way under the guidance and watchful gaze of his mentor and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, one Tom Marvolo Riddle.
1. Chapter 1

_Not Slytherin, not Slytherin._

"Well, I can't help how you feel. There's only one place that I can, in good conscience, allow you to go. SLYTHERIN"

_Well fuck._

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Harry dropped the Sorting Hat on the stool and stood up quickly. His mind was swimming, head pounding, and as he looked around he couldn't help but notice that the Great Hall had gone silent in a way that he had not experienced in the moments prior, but to which he would become accustomed in the days and weeks to come. Beginning the walk to the Slytherin table, his footsteps echoed loudly in his own ears, heart rate steadily soaring, the silence stretching before him, it seemed an eternity but in reality couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds.

"Thomas, Dean"

McGonagall's voice snapped the Hall out of its reverie; the students broke out in whispers and points all talking about the Boy-Who-Lived. It was almost inconsequential that Thomas, Dean, became the night's fifth Gryffindor. The black boy made his way quickly to the Gryffindor table as Harry finally stood before his fellow Slytherins. He surveyed the group, many of whom were glancing between him and the sorting hat distrustfully. His eyes found those of Malfoy, who was looking at him with something that seemed very akin to confusion. Malfoy quickly pulled out the chair next to him and whispered in a strained voice to Harry from across the table,

"What are you doing? Sit down."

Without thinking, Harry hurried around the table and took the chair offered by Malfoy.

He looked up as the Sorting was drew to a close, with "Zabini, Blaise" becoming the final Slytherin of the night. As McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took up the sorting hat, Dumbledore cleared his throat. As he spoke, the Slytherin table began speaking at once, to the tone of drowning out most of Dumbledore's words. What Harry did manage to hear snapped him out of the stupor he had been in following the Hat's pronouncement.

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Harry broke out in to laughter as the Slytherins around him stopped their conversation. Harry, noticing that once again eyes were on him, asked out loud,

"Is he an idiot?"

Malfoy snorted and grinned at him.

Harry studied Dumbledore a bit more closely. He'd heard of the man of course, and knew what Malfoy had told him was indeed correct. But seeing for himself, he wondered for a moment how those stories he'd heard could possibly be accurate. This man who sat before him was an old man, with a long and flowing white beard, the hat on his head off kilter, tilting ridiculously to one side. His robes, magenta with gold trim, would stand out even amongst the most audacious patrons of the molly houses he'd seen around and about the back streets of magical London.

"You've heard of him before, you must have" Malfoy spoke in a condescending tone.

"Of course I've heard of him. I'd just never quite pictured him like… well, like this."

Malfoy snorted again. "There's a reason father doesn't much care for the man"

"His dress code?"

"His eccentricity, to say the least."

"Hmm."

"So Potter, what will your dear godfather have to say about the evenings events? I'm dare say he'll be quite disappointed."

Harry thought for a moment, and responded in kind.

"Not nearly as disappointed as your father. It may be more difficult for him now to paint me as the supposed Savior of the Light."

In an almost giggle, Malfoy replied, "Are you kidding? He'll have a field day!"

Harry grunted in a sort of non committal way, and the meal progressed from there, with Malfoy turning to the other first years to rejoin their conversation. As Harry looked around, he took note of the other three tables. He knew all about them, of course, and their stereotypes: Ravenclaw smart and studious, Hufflepuff loyal to a fault, and Gryffindor courage and bravery taken to the extreme. It was hard for these stereotypes to resonate now, as he put a face to the ideals, it didn't really matter. They all looked the same, after all. Simply children. The introspective moment passed, and he looked to catch the eye of his best childhood friend, one Ron Weasley. Before he could find the newly minted Gryffindor, Malfoy tugged on his newly crested robes (he realized with a start that he hadn't even noticed his robes sprout the Slytherin mark).

"Would you like to meet my father? I know that he's long been looking forward to an interview with you, if you'd consent."

"Really? I hadn't known."

"Your godfather is the real problem; he's never allowed any interviews."

"Something I'm sure I was aware of."

Malfoy flushed for a moment, but recovered. "It was just a though. Who wouldn't want to meet the Minister of Magic?"

"And I'm sure you have my best interest in mind."

Harry turned, tuning out Malfoy's response. He couldn't find Ron, but instead locked eyes with a frizzy haired girl he didn't recognize. She smiled, and Harry, guessing she was a muggleborn, sent her a slightly lopsided grin before going on with his search. Just as he caught the red hair in his periphery, Dumbledore stood once again to speak and the hall grew quiet.

"Welcome once again to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have a few start of year notices for you all. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that no magic is permitted in the halls, and I should note that the Forbidden Forrest is, as the name suggests, absolutely forbidden to all students," His eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, but he continued "I would also like to mention that Quidditch trials will be scheduled within the coming months. If you would like to play for your house team, please contact Madam Hooch. As I believe that is all and we are all well fed and watered, off to bed!"

The Slytherin Prefect, a boy named Terrence Higgs, shouted out in the din that followed the end of the Headmaster's speech. "First years over here!"

Harry and the other Slytherin first years stood and shuffled their way through the crowd to where Higgs was standing.

"All you first years, follow me. And don't get lost, because I'm not going to come find you."

At that, he stepped out through the side doors of the great hall and, with the first years following close behind, began a winding path down the levels of Hogwarts School.

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The dungeons were exactly what Harry expected. Dark and somewhat dank, it was hard to believe that they actually housed students down here. As the Slytherin first year students stumbled in to their common room (Higgs supplied the password), they found the all the other Slytherins, from second to seventh year, waiting for them. Higgs pulled the first years from the entrance and helped them into a semblance of an order. They waited, then, they waited for several minutes, with very little sound. Just as Harry was beginning to wonder whether or not they would still be waiting the following morning, a tall man, dark haired and brooding, stepped through the entrance and drew himself to his full height before the Slytherin House.

"My name is Professor Snape. I am your head of house, and I will be keeping watch over you during your tenure at this school."

Harry shuddered at this statement, feeling as if a gust of wind had passed through his body.

"To the first year students, there are several things you should know. There is an expectation that comes with being inducted into the ranks of Slytherin. An expectation of greatness, of intelligence, of ambition. An expectation of _success_.I fully expect each and every one of you to do all that is in your power to exemplify these virtues. As a Slytherin, the other houses will do you no favors. The other students will assume that you are out to harm them, that by definition Slytherin is a nasty word, and to be a Slytherin means to be something distasteful. Because of this, outside of this room, this haven, I demand exemplary behavior. Others will be looking for reasons to dismiss, and you will _not_ give them these reasons. If you receive one detention from another professor at this school you will receive two detentions from me. If you lose house points from another professor, you will lose twice as many from me. As your fellow Slytherins firmly enjoy winning, you would be remiss to test this edict, as becoming a liability for the house may cause you much in the way of personal distress."

Harry looked nervously to the faces of the upper class Slytherins. They were nodding in agreement with Professor Snape, and Harry swallowed hard. Staying out of trouble had never been his specialty.

"First years, step forward."

Malfoy was the first to obey this command, stepping forward with a confident aristocratic air. Harry followed, as did the other first year Slytherin students.

"State your name for your classmates."

Malfoy, in what was seemingly characteristic of his nature, spoke first.

"Draco Malfoy."

He was followed in order by Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bullstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott.

"Harry Potter."

Harry Potter was growing tired of the silences that followed every time his name was spoken out loud, for the entire common room seemed as if the wind had been kicked out of them. There was an intake of breath as Snape took a step forward.

"Harry Potter. So you are."

"Sir?"

"Mister Potter. What are your aims for the coming year?"

Harry's mind whirled. His aims? A moment passed in silence.

"Potter?"

"Sir, I'd like to survive this school year."

A strangled chuckle escaped his throat and he immediately regretted his choice of words.

"Survive, Mister Potter? And what is there to suggest that you might not?"

He had no answer, and chose this time to simply keep his mouth shut.

"Certainly you can't be suggesting that you find Slytherins to be _dangerous_, as you yourself are now one of us, regardless of your family or expectations."

"I didn't think that sir."

"No? Perhaps you've some sort of preconceived notion regarding this house."

"Sir, not at all."

Snape glared directly into Harry's eyes, boring into them.

"So what is it you, our newest _celebrity_, feels he has to fear?"

Harry still couldn't bring himself to respond, almost cowed by the sheer vitriol this man was pouring on him. Snape turned from him and addressed the house as a whole.

"And here you see it already. Before even attending this school, students are taught to fear what it means to be Slytherin. The Sorting Hat itself, imbued with the essence of the founders themselves, describes our house with the traits ambitious and cunning. These are not negative! There is nothing that can be accomplished in this world without a healthy dose of both characteristics. And so look around. These people around you are your family, are the only ones who will support you, are the only ones who will listen to you, are the only ones who will believe you. Lean on them, but also learn to walk on your own, with your head held high."

The first years, Malfoy especially, stood straight up, trying to show that they could indeed walk with their heads held high.

"I bid you good evening. I expect you at breakfast promptly at seven to receive your timetables for the year. That is all."

With that, Snape turned and stepped from the common room, and Harry was alone in the den of snakes, as once again eyes turned to him.

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Harry sat on his four-poster bed brooding. It was true. He was a Slytherin. He had thought about sending an owl to Sirius, but decided it could wait until morning at the very earliest. Maybe it could even wait until the end of the week. He dreaded the response. Sirius could be a bit tetchy when it came to Slytherins, which was understandable given the state of his upbringing at the hands of his Slytherin relatives.

He stood and pulled the curtains shut, preparing to go to bed. He heard the others around him, Malfoy, Blaise, and Nott, speaking. He tuned them out, deciding that he just couldn't handle any more that evening. For a moment it occurred to him that he should try to be friendly, that these would be his roommates for the next seven years. There probably would have been two more, but Vincent had several years ago been murdered, along with his family, by a disgruntled employee and Gregory Goyle and his parents had been found dead, with their heads severed and their bodies transfigured into childlike dolls. He shook those thoughts from his head and sighed.

His mind drifted to his childhood friend, Ron Weasley. Sirius had often brought Harry to the Burrow, having fought in the war with his parents, Arthur and Molly. Ron was one of seven Weasley children, and seemed to Harry to most levelheaded of them all, at least the ones he knew. Frankly, the twins frightened him, and Ginny had never really gotten over her childhood crush on him, leading to an awkward and strained relationship between the two. Harry had never actually met Bill or Charlie, but hoped to in the future, having heard nothing but good about both of the elder Weasleys. Percy was just an ass.

And Ron was in Gryffindor. Harry was in Slytherin. There was absolutely no way that wouldn't change everything. Ron's entire family had been Gryffindor for generations. So had Harry's. There had been the assumption, made by Sirius, by the Weasley's, by just about everybody that Harry would follow suit. He could just imagine tomorrow's headlines. HARRY POTTER A SLYTHERIN! With the next line reading: THE NEXT DARK LORD?

Shaking his head in disgust he lay down to sleep, Hedwig hooting to his side as he fell into that dark abyss.

The next morning Harry found himself at breakfast, the Slytherin filled with students as the other houses were just finding their way to the Great Hall. Snape appeared in front of Malfoy and handed him the timetable for the first years. He spoke curtly,

"See to it that all of the first year students receive their timetables promptly, Mister Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded, and Snape made his way to the Head Table, his robes billowing in his wake. Malfoy promptly handed out the schedules, but dangled the last in front of Harry.

"I don't know. Do you really deserve this Potter? After all, I'm not sure you're truly a Slytherin at all."

Malfoy's comments fazed Harry for a moment, as he had never expressed any distaste for Malfoy to his face, and Malfoy had seemed friendly enough the previous evening. "Hand it over, Malfoy" Harry said, grasping at the paper.

Malfoy dangled it with glee another moment before relenting. "Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. Either way, I'm sure we'll find out. Defense and Potions today, both with Gryffindor. The two top classes here at Hogwarts."

"Have you attended either?"

"So says my father."

"And I'm certain he's correct."

Malfoy made a face, trying to detect any trace of sarcasm.

"So Potter," Nott interrupted, "Did Black teach you anything before you got here? I've heard he's made himself quite a name in the Department."

Harry shook his head, "Nothing really. He's pushed me to focus on theory before practice, so I haven't had the chance to try much out."

Nott shook his head. "Shame, that. You'll have to push him to teach you some real stuff. Then you can turn around and show us." Harry looked at Nott for a moment, and then nodded. "I'll have to do that. Maybe over the holidays."

Nott thought for a moment. "Have you heard anything about the new Defense teacher? He wasn't at the sorting, and I hadn't heard anything of him before the year began."

"Nothing. Malfoy?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Unfortunately, my father isn't talking. He knows, I'm sure, but he won't say."

"Is it some sort of secret?"

"I wouldn't know why. It's only a teaching position."

The three discussed the matter amongst themselves as they stood from the table and made their way through the hallways to the defense classroom, where they found several Gryffindor students there already sitting, taking most of the seats in the front of the classroom. Nott took a seat in the middle row as Harry, noting that Ron was amongst them, sent him a nod. Ron gave him a look before return the nod slowly. Malfoy, noticing the interaction, spoke. "You know each other then." Harry sat next to Nott as he responded. "Yes, Malfoy, you could say that."

"Not exactly the sort we're encouraged to associate with."

"I'll _associate_ with whom I please."

"Just giving you some advice, Potter. Simply a little advice."

With that, Malfoy took his seat on the other side of Nott as the other students slowly filed in to the classroom. A door at the front of the room opened and through it stepped a tall, middle aged but distinctly good looking man with grey twinkling eyes. He stepped to the desk, picked up the register lying on the table, and began to take the role. As he reached Potter, Harry, he hesitated for just a moment in a way that did not escape Harry, before continuing on. As he finished, tossing the register back on the desk, he took a step forward and surveyed the class. He opened his mouth and spoke in smooth and refined tones,

"Hello, and welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Tom Riddle, and I will be your professor for the duration of the year."

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Harry walked from the Defense classroom, rolling his eleven inch phoenix feather wand between his fingers in marvel. The rest of his classmates had made their way down the halls to lunch, but Harry dragged behind. The events of the previous class still buzzing in his head.

_Professor Riddle had been demonstrating for the class a very simple stunning spell, the first rudimentary spell students were to learn in his classes. Riddle spoke to the class softly, telling them that from that moment on, no matter the situation, they should never be completely defenseless, as at the very least they could always render their opponent incapable of further damage. _

_As the class paired off, Harry with Nott and Malfoy with Zabini, Riddle made the rounds assisting the students with their incantations. Nott went first, managing a small red jet of light, which pushed Harry a few steps backwards upon contact. Riddle had cast a cushioning spell on the floor to ensure no damage to stunned students, but Harry still couldn't help but flinch as the light hit his chest. Harry was about to take his turn when Riddle reached the pair. Harry nervously fingered his wand for a moment before taking his stance. _

"_Stupefy" Harry incanted as a fully formed red streak leapt from his wand and struck Nott in the stomach, and he hit the floor in a hurry. Harry, startled, turned and saw a look of keen interest upon Riddle's face. Others in the class were giving Harry shifting looks as well. "Well done Harry." Riddle revived Nott and continued down the row, occasionally throwing glances at Harry for the rest of the period. _

With a start, Harry realized that he was alone in the corridor. Hearing footsteps behind him, Harry turned to see Professor Riddle striding down the corridor, and stepped to aside to allow the older man to pass by. But Riddle stopped when he reached Harry.

"You impressed me in class today, Harry."

"Thank you sir."

"Have you had any prior training? From your godfather?"

Harry shook his head. "No sir, except that he insisted I read and attempt to learn theory before putting it in to practice. Although I must admit, I'm not sure how much I gained from it." Riddle cocked his head to the side for a moment, thinking. "Ah well, just a curiosity. I must say, I'll be expecting great things Harry, great things."

With that, Riddle continued down the hall and turned the corner out of view.

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Harry was late.

It was not a good idea to be late. Not to his first potions class. Especially not to his first class with Snape. He was running through the corridors as portraits on either side gave him distasteful looks and mutterings. Not giving a whit, Harry continued at his pace.

"Oh, what have we here?"

Harry looked up as he ran and saw a ghostly looking creature with a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat carrying a bundle in his arms soaring down the hall beside him.

"I've got to get to class, sorry, no time to talk!"

Harry turned the last corner to the potions dungeon, and heard a cackle from behind him.

"No time for little old Peevsey? Shame that. Oh well, enjoy!"

The poltergeist let fall the bundle in his arms, and the aroma hit Harry like a brick. Retching at the all too familiar scent of dungbombs, Harry made it to the classroom with visions of the Weasley twins dancing in his head. He crossed the threshold just as Snape entered from the opposite side of the classroom.

Snape gave Harry a quick glare. "Potter, take your seat."

Harry looked around and saw the only open space was beside a first year Gryffindor he did not know. Harry hurried to the table and sat. He hardly had time to catch his breath before Snape began to speak.

From there the class could only devolve for Harry. It turned out that he had been partnered with possibly the stupidest Gryffindor alive, as Neville Longbottom had melted their cauldron within the first ten minutes of the brewing period. Gryffindor had lost ten points, which was of no concern to Harry, but the rest of the Gryffindors were convinced that Harry, being a Slytherin, had been the saboteur.

In the mill of students leaving the Potions classroom, one Dean Thomas bumped into Harry as he was trying to escape the mess.

"Watch it, Potter."

Harry, intending to avoid a confrontation, continued to walk. But hearing Malfoy speak up behind him, he turned.

"Thomas, manners! I expect you to apologize to Harry here. You ought to have learned to respect your betters, but I suppose you one can't help their upbringing."

Thomas, seething, took a step towards Malfoy. "Say that again."

Malfoy repeated, "I suppose you can't help your upbringing, or your blood."

Apoplectic, Thomas wound up. Harry, seeing this coming, whipped out his want and spoke the only spell he knew.

"Stupefy."

Thomas hit the floor and the mill fell silent.

Harry thought out loud, "Jesus I'm tired of that."

The tension was cut, though, by the start of Malfoy laughing uproariously. Patting Harry on the back, he said, "Well done Potter, well done. We'll make a Slytherin of you yet." And with that, the first year Slytherins made their way towards dinner, one felled Gryffindor in their wake.

As they were walking, Harry turned to see Ron shaking his head and attempting to reanimate his friend. Harry felt a twinge of guilt, before shaking it off and enjoying the attentions of his fellow house mates who, for what seemed like the first time, were enjoying his presence.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

"_Harry, you're the spitting image of James. I know you'll make him proud."_

_Those were Sirius' last words before ushering Harry out the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, trunk and Hedwig behind him. Harry could hear the portrait of Sirius' mother wishing him well in the background as he stepped over the threshold and on to the street full of unsuspecting muggles. _

_Sirius lit his wand, held it to the sky, and within moments the Knight Bus materialized in front of them. Harry climbed aboard first with the feather light trunk with Sirius following closely behind carrying the bird in her cage. As he fished for a few coins, the driver pulled the conductor to the side, whispering "Blimey, that there's Harry Potter!"_

"_Harry Potter! Put that change away mate, you and your friend ride for free!" With that, the conductor ushered Harry on board. Sirius gave the man a close look over before consenting to follow Harry down the aisle. The two sat, Sirius on the outside, pushing Harry to take the window seat. _

_As the bus made its way across the British Country side, Harry found himself lost in the view. They would pass muggle streets and magical dwellings, cities and countryside. Harry was startled back into reality by Sirius poking him in the ribs._

"_What?"_

"_You nervous?"  
_

"_No Sirius, no. I'm not nervous."_

"_Ah."_

_Sirius turned away, and Harry went back to his window. _

_  
After a moment, Sirius poked him again._

"_What?" _

"_You nervous?"_

"_No."_

"_You sure?"_

"_Yes. I'm sure."_

"_You aren't nervous."_

"_No."_

_"You've got to be. I sure as hell was. But your father, he wasn't nervous at all. Or if he was, he didn't show it. We met on the train, have I ever told you that?"_

"_Once or twice."_

_"Just keep a lookout. You never know what'll happen on that train. Could meet your best friend for life, could meet a future girlfriend." He gave Harry what he thought to be a roguish wink. "Just keep your eyes open. You're starting the ride of your life!"_

_Harry laughed at the Sirius' corniness, and continued to watch through the window the world they were passing by. Sirius fished from his bag a tattered copy of the Daily Prophet and unfolded it. For a moment there was silence, before Sirius swore softly under his breath. _

"_What is it?"_

_Sirius turned his head to the side. "Nothing worth worrying about, Harry."_

"_Tell me."_

__

Sirius gave a long sigh, and explained. "The Wizengamot's introduced legislation to restrict availability of upper level ministry positions to those with at least one parent of wizarding heritage."

"So, no muggleborns."

_"Right. There are precious few muggleborns in high positions right now, so it's mainly a symbolic gesture, and it might not even pass. Either way, Dumbledore will blow a gasket, he'll do everything he can to block it. But you shouldn't worry yourself about these things. Have your wand?"_

"_Of course, I wouldn't forget it."_

"_Hedwig?"_

_"You carried her in here."_

"_Right. Just being safe."_

_The Knight Bus came to a sudden halt, and the conductor's voice rang out, magically amplified throughout the bus, "King's Cross!"_

_Harry, Sirius, and several others filed off as the Bus evaporated behind them with a loud crack. Harry surveyed the platform. He'd never been, but had heard stories from Sirius pretty much ever since he could remember, especially regarding the Express itself. Sirius nudged him in the side. "Quickly Harry, platform 9 and ¾. Follow me. Try to keep from being noticed."_

_Sirius strode down the platform, Harry (bangs pushed down as far as they could go), trunk, and Hedwig in tow. As he reached a space in between platforms 9 and 10, he gestured to Harry, as if to say "Go ahead."_

"_Uh, Sirius. What am I supposed to be doing?"_

_Sirius smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course you wouldn't know. Ok, you see the space in between the two platforms –"_

"_- you mean the wall."_

"_Yes, the wall. You see it."_

"_I see it."_

"_Now, I want to you to run full speed towards that wall. Don't worry, you'll pass right through."_

_Harry checked for signs of a prank. "Are you serious?"_

_Sirius chuckled for a moment and Harry gave him a glare that said 'I dare you to make that god damned joke one more time.' Sirius refrained, and replied, "You'll be fine, just trust me. Also, once you're on the other side, make sure to keep a low profile. We don't want you mobbed at the station. We can wait for that until the train." Sirius winked, and waved him on._

_Harry took a hard breath and set off at a little less than a sprint, Sirius looking on with a grin. As Harry's proximity to the wall grew, so did his fear that Sirius was, indeed, pulling a prank on him. Just as he was about to hit the wall, he gave a shout and covered his face with his hands, he could hear Sirius laughing in the background as he passed right throw the ephemeral wall. His shout, though, resonated through this side of the platform, causing several families around him to give him suspicious looks. He waved, slightly, and tried to regain some sort of composure. Sirius strode calmly through the portal to Harry's side, still laughing. _

"_Shut up."_

_"Priceless. Should have seen your face."_

_Harry glared at him another moment, and rescued his trunk from floating leisurely at Sirius' side. "I'd better be boarding here in a moment. So much for low profile."_

_"But nobody noticed who you were. Probably thought you were some muggleborn going through for the first time."_

"_That was my first time. You could have told me beforehand."_

"_You would have thought I was trying to prank you."_

"_And you sort of were."_

"_True, true." Sirius continued to chuckle to himself._

_Harry looked up at the sound of the train whistle blowing._

"_I'd better be off."_

"_Promise me you'll stay out of trouble."_

__

"I can't do that."

_"As I'd hope! Promise me you'll do your best to avoid being caught."_

"_That I can do."_

"_Good man. Tell Ron I say hello."_

"_I'm sure I'll pass that on when I see him."_

"_And good luck. Do be careful, Hogwarts can always be a little more dangerous than it seems."_

_Harry nodded. "I'll do my best. Thanks for everything, Sirius."_

_And with that, Harry turned and boarded the Hogwarts Express, Sirius watching on with pride._

_But Harry, unlike Sirius, did not meet his future best friend on the Hogwarts Express. Nor did he meet his future girlfriend. In fact, Harry Potter, on his first ride to Hogwarts, did not meet a single person. Oh, he had tried, he'd looked for Ron right off the bat, but in what in retrospect seemed to be the start of a trend for the pair, Ron was nowhere to be found. And so, he found a small compartment in the back, and began to read a tattered old copy of The Beadle and the Bard, lifted from the Black Library. _

_Because of this inauspicious beginning, it surprised the entire class of first years at the Sorting that yes, indeed, Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived was among them, and would be their yearmate for the next seven._

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Harry reflected on this as he once more attempted to transfigure his matchstick into a needle. As McGonagall approached the desk he was sharing with Theodore Nott, his brow grew a little sweaty for not having changed single damn thing about his match. He turned to see that Nott had managed to make his match go sharp and pointy, although it wasn't yet shiny or metallic. McGonagall gave him a nod and turned to Harry.

"Let's see you give it a try, Mister Potter."

Harry waived his wand with intensity, but the matchstick stubbornly refused to respond.

McGonagall shook her head and reached down to correct his grip. "Try again, if you will."

He did, his forehead tightening in consternation. But again, despite his best efforts, the matchstick remained completely and entirely a matchstick.

McGonagall sighed. "Continue working at it, Mister Potter." She gave him what seemed to be an attempt at an encouraging smile and moved on down the row.

Harry turned to Nott in frustration. "How did you do that?"

Nott, looking pleased to no end that he had bested Harry, smiled smugly. "Just a talent, I suppose. Just follow the instructions."

"I tried that." Harry said in a frustrated tone. "But nothing changed."

"Well, I'd suggest you do what McGonagall said, keep trying."

With that, Nott successfully completed the transfiguration. Smiling deeply, he even almost tinted red when McGonagall praised him for his work and granted Slytherin ten points. Harry, to his side, silently fumed.

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Several mornings later, Harry was at breakfast unrolling his Daily Prophet subscription when he heard a ruckus at the Gryffindor table. Looking up, he saw Malfoy standing with Zabini waving the Daily Prophet in the faces of several first year Gryffindors. Ron Weasley's voice could clearly be heard above the din, "Shove off, Malfoy!"

Harry quickly checked the headlines for the cause. And there it was.

ROSIER'S PROPOSED LEGISLATION PASSES: MUGGLEBORNS BARRED FROM HIGH LEVEL MINISTRY POSITIONS!

Quickly throwing down his copy of the paper, he made his way to the Gryffindor table beside Malfoy. Seamus Finnegan, Thomas' best friend, spotted Harry first.

"Potter, come to gloat with your friends?"

Harry glanced at the rest of the table and saw Ron sitting with the girl he remembered from the sorting. Malfoy was looking Harry up and down, waiting expectantly for his response.

"Just wanting to see what the commotion was about."

Malfoy jumped in. "Come on Potter, you've seen the paper, must have. Give us your take!"

Harry spoke carefully, "Well, it seems like this is just the beginning, testing the waters. Sets a precedent for further restrictions on muggleborns rights."

Malfoy laughed. "But what do you _think_ Potter?"

Harry looked at the solemn faces populating the Gryffindor table. It was clear what _they_ thought about the whole thing. Harry sighed. "My mother was a muggleborn."

Ron smiled slightly and Harry mouthed to him _we should talk_. Ron nodded, and just as Malfoy sneered and was about to respond, a shadow fell over the proceedings. Harry turned to see Snape had come down from the head table and was now standing before them.

"Is there a problem here?" He spoke silkily.

"No problem, sir," Malfoy spoke, "Simply was enquiring as to what the Gryffindors thought of yesterday's legislative breakthrough."

Snape's mouth drew into a taut line. "Indeed. I'd suggest that you all get moving, morning classes will begin shortly. On your way." And with that dismissal, Snape turned and stepped curtly from the Great Hall. Malfoy shot the Gryffindor table one more grin, and strode away as well. Ron spoke up.

"After lunch. Free period?"

"See you then." Harry turned and walked towards the defense class, hearing the other Gryffindor's grilling Ron as to why he would be meeting with a known Slytherin. Knowing he would be arriving at least several minutes early, but he didn't really feel like spending any more time in the great hall.

As he walked through the hallway, he considered his position in the school and not for the first time wondering just why it was he had been sorted into Slytherin.

"_Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness…"_

That damned hat. It never explained to him exactly _why _Slytherin would help him, or how he really belonged. He had never thought of himself as cunning, that trait Snape so touted as one of the invaluable characteristics of the Slytherin house. He wasn't sure that Malfoy was wrong. He didn't fit in the house, had made no real friends. He occasionally talked with Nott, but he wouldn't consider them to be close. His only friend from before school, Ron, had yet to even talk to him at school, although he was encouraged that that was soon to change.

And Sirius. There was something he dreaded. He had yet to owl Sirius, and knew he had to send something soon, or Sirius would begin to wonder. He wasn't sure what to say. He knew that Sirius' entire family had been Slytherin, and the he was Gryffindor. From what he'd heard, Sirius' father had never gotten over it, and had basically disowned his son. It was only because of Sirius' mother hat Sirius hadn't been kicked out and scorched from the family tapestry. His father had been a staunch supporter of the dark lord, as was his brother Regulus. They both disappeared around the same time several years before Harry's birth, and neither had been seen since. Sirius maintained that it didn't bother him. Maybe it didn't. But either way, Harry was sure that the news that he was a Slytherin would not go over well.

He reached the defense classroom well ahead of the rest of his classmates for the second time in two classes. He stepped in the room and saw Riddle already sitting at his desk, reading a book. He spoke, not lifting his eyes from the page.

"You're early, Harry."

Harry shrugged and took his seat. "Yes sir."

A moment passed in which Riddle continued to read, and Harry doodled an imaginary scribble on the desk with his uninked quill.

Riddle closed his book and watched Harry as he scribbled. Harry, noticing this, stopped short, and met Riddle's gaze. "Sir?"

"Harry Potter…"

Riddle stood and sat on the outside edge of his desk, facing Harry.

"You've surprised many people, Harry."

"Sir? I thought I'd been relatively unassuming."

Riddle smiled. "Exactly. You, the Boy Who Lived sorted into Slytherin house, but not a showboat, hardly causing a stir in your classes, you've confounded a number of expectations. Severus in particular is not sure what to make of you."

"That's not been my intention."

"No? Not taking on an 'unassuming' identity in order to maintain a sense of solitude, as a way of avoiding the stares and pressures of being you?"

Harry started. "I hadn't thought of it that way sir."

"Pity."

A moment passed, and the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor first year students filed into the classroom with the usually noise. Riddle made his way back to behind the desk.

0

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Several weeks passed from there, with Harry maintaining decent grades in most of his classes, excelling in defense, and continuing to struggle in Transfiguration. Each class McGonagall's look became harsher, as if she was almost done cutting him slack for his inability to succeed in the class. He was also occasionally approached by other students, surprisingly from all of the houses and years. It didn't appear that autograph seekers minded too much that he was a first year Slytherin. It did appear to be a problem when Harry was trying to do homework in the library and was approached by a gaggle of second year girls who got all of them, Harry included, ejected from the hospital by an irate Madam Pince.

On the positive side, Ron and Harry had rekindled their friendship to a degree. While Ron wasn't fully on board with the idea of Harry as Slytherin, the fact that Malfoy hadn't immediately become his best friend won him over, and both were able to make fun of the boy for his delusions of grandeur.

Malfoy had spent his first month in Hogwarts trying to rally the other Slytherin students, especially the second and first years, to his side. He wanted influence, and he wanted power, and he went about it with promises of favor in his father's eyes and the occasional bribe. He had even attempted to court Harry's favor, a moment which caused both Ron and Harry to break out in to laughter any time it was brought up.

"_Potter"_

_Harry had been sitting in the Slytherin Common room, again with his tattered copy of The Beadle and the Bard. He didn't look up, responding distractedly, "Malfoy."_

_Malfoy took the chair next to him. "Call me Draco. We haven't had the opportunity to talk much, Harry."_

_Harry grunted in a sort on non committal way._

"_Is there anything you want, Harry? Anything at all."_

_At this, Harry looked up. "Why? Even if there were, what could you do about it?"_

"_You'll find that influence can go a long way, Harry."_

_Harry snorted at this. "Oh really?"_

_Malfoy paused for a moment. "You would know that, Harry, but you don't seem to ever use it."_

"_It?"_

"_Your fame! Your scar! You could be running this school. But you just seem content to sit in the corners. I don't understand it."_

_Harry sighed, "If I could be running this school on my own, why do I need you?"_

_Malfoy flushed a dark pink. "Because you'll find that while your fame may help you win over the masses, I have connections to the upper levels of the ministry, which is far more important and more useful for your future."_

"_Your father has those connections, not you, Malfoy."_

"_If I put in a good word with my father, don't you think he would get you what you want?"_

"_Your father has been trying to meet with me for the better part of several years. It seems that he could have more to gain from my popularity than I could gain from him."_

"_Don't think too highly of yourself, Potter. You're just a pawn, that's all you'll ever be. People don't rise above their stations. You won't either. So milk it while it lasts, because it won't always be there."_

_Harry just laughed, and returned to his book. Malfoy, brimming with frustration, rose quickly from the chair and stormed off, Nott laughing in the background, having overheard the conversation from his position in the back of the room._

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The Great Hall was filled with pumpkins, live bats, and candles gleaming in celebration of the annual Halloween feast. Dumbledore was presiding as usual at the top of the head table, catching Harry's eye and giving him a short wink. Harry returned it uncertainly; himself was packed at the table between Nott and Tracey Davis, another of the first year Slytherins with whom Harry had had little interaction. She was a sort of mousy girl, with short brown hair in need of brushing and light green eyes that barely betrayed her annoyance with the boy whom she was sitting next to. But Harry could tell, mainly by virtue of the elbow she had "accidentally" placed in his kidney as she sat down beside him. Harry gave her a glare and turned to converse with Nott,

"Why does she hate me?" Harry whispered.

Nott looked over Harry's shoulder to see who he was talking about. "Tracey?"

"Yes Tracey."

"Beats me." Not shrugged. They were interrupted by a bountiful harvest of food appearing on the serving plates in front of them. Nott abandoned the conversation in favor of the roast, while Harry sat back in his chair, contemplating whether or not he should just ask Tracey now. As he made up his mind to do just that, the main doors to the Great Hall burst open with a slam.

Professor Tom Riddle stepped into the Great Hall, his wand out and a ferocious look on his face. It did not escape notice by the crowd that his arm was covered in not so human colored blood.

Harry saw Dumbledore's twinkling eyes turn harsh and his smile disappear as Riddle entered the Hall. He stood in a swift motion, but was too slow to speak before Riddle's voice echoed through the Hall.

"There was a troll. In the dungeons. Thought you ought to know."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Tom Riddle was sitting calmly in the Dumbledore's office as the soft steps of the headmaster agitatedly paced the floor.

"Tom, why didn't you come to me in private? There was no need for such theatrics."

Riddle responded softly, "Are you suggesting that you would keep the students ignorant of a potential danger?"

"It is no longer a danger, something you yourself saw to. I do applaud you for that, my boy."

"Thank you headmaster."

"Albus." He rebuked softly.

Tom nodded, but did not respond.

Dumbledore sat gravely in his own seat behind the oak desk. "But Tom, I'm afraid this is very serious. We'll be hearing from concerned parents any moment now. I'm still unable to account for how the Troll made its way into the dungeons. It seems extremely unlikely that it just wandered in, as none of my wards were activated."

Riddle sat forward. "Do you fear inside involvement?"

Dumbledore sighed. "To a degree, to a degree. I can't rule out the possibility."

"Of course, sir."

Leaning forward, the aged headmaster sighed. "Could you recount for me again, if you will, how you came across the troll, and testify as to the condition it was in?"

Riddle paused for a moment. "You recall how you set me on duty for the first half of the feast."

"Of course. Continue."

"Well, I was on my routine patrol past the dungeons when I heard a young girl, a first year Gryffindor -"

"Ms. Granger."

"Yes, she had been crying in the toilet nearby."

"Are you aware as to the cause?"

Riddle scoffed. "I hardly bothered myself with that at the time. Suffice it to say, the girl's weeping attracted the attention of the troll, and I in turn. I entered the restroom to find the girl on the ground sobbing with the Troll standing above her. I believe she had been struck once, but that is the extent of my knowledge."

"Ms. Granger will survive. She is currently with Poppy in the infirmary as we speak."

"I'm glad to hear that. The young lady usually seems to have a good head on her shoulders, although she didn't exercise sound judgment running off on her own."

"The young often act in an impulsive manner; we must excuse them for that."

Riddle responded quickly, "I'm not sure I ever did, professor."

"No, my boy, no you did not." Dumbledore allowed. "Please finish your tale."

"Of course. As you know, I dispatched the Troll, but unfortunately in the process it dropped the club it was wielding on Granger's outstretched leg."

"Ah, how did you remove the troll?"

Riddle smiled, "I simply deprived it of a head."

Dumbledore shuddered, reminded of how bloodthirsty his protégé could be.

"From there, you know what happened. I brought Granger to the feast to inform you of the proceedings."

"I surely do." Dumbledore removed a sheet of parchment from a drawer and scribbled a note, before sending it off with Fawkes, his Phoenix companion.

"Who was that for?"

"Lucius will be expecting a report, I assume."

"And you cater to his whims now?"

Dumbledore shot him a fierce look. "Absolutely not. But at times like this it is better to maintain pretences. "

Riddle thought for a moment. "Would you care to elaborate?"

He shook his head. "Not at the moment, Tom. Not at the moment."

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"Why is Dumbledore in power?"

"What?"

The Slytherins were huddled in their common room, the warming charms on the building seemingly faltering in times of extreme cold. It was December, and in northern Scotland, December is extreme cold.

"I'm asking you, why is Dumbledore the headmaster of Hogwarts?"

It was Malfoy talking, surrounded by the entire first year class of Slytherins, Harry included. They had come to a tentative truce over the months, with Malfoy's bid for power and influence in Slytherin house not getting in the way of Harry's desire to remain outside of the limelight. Harry occasionally caused Malfoy chagrin by refusing to openly side with the heir to the ministry in the halls of the school, but Harry would remind him that he also refused to side with anybody else, thus ensuring that he was not a threat to his little empire.

Blaise answered Malfoy's question. "Because he's powerful. The most powerful wizard in generations."

"He's powerful, true. Very powerful. But how does that qualify him as an educator? To run a school? What I'm asking is if you know _how_ Dumbledore became headmaster."

"He taught transfiguration before old Dippet stepped down." Pansy supplied.

"There were plenty of teachers available to fill the slot."

Harry sighed. "So what are you suggesting, Malfoy?"

"I'm saying he received the position through his _connections_."

Tracey jumped in. "Did you hear this from your father?"

"Connections with who?" Harry asked.

Malfoy smirked at Tracey before turning back to Harry. "Connections with a fellow you're more than acquainted with."

Harry positively _snarled_. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

Malfoy was delighted. "You mean you don't know!"

"Just. Tell me."

Malfoy sighed theatrically. "As you wish. Did you know that Dumbledore was the childhood best friend of a man by the name of Gellert Grindelwald?"

A hush fell over the group. Eyes shifted between Harry and Malfoy.

"And _did you know_ that Dumbledore took power at Hogwarts during the two years in which Grindlewald served as Minister of Magic? Before he was ousted as a dark wizard? Before he terrorized Britain and held our world hostage for the better part of three decades?"

Tracey chimed in again skeptically. "So you're saying that Grindelwald got Dumbledore his position. That they were friends."

"Can you prove this?" Blaise asked.

"It was common knowledge that they were the best of friends, that is until Grindelwald went about eliminating everyone who knew him while he was in school. That is, except Dumbledore."

"He could have been frightened of Dumbledore."

"If Dumbledore was truly stronger than Grindelwald, why didn't he stop him? Why did it fall to Harry here to do the dirty work?"

Harry swallowed hard as inquisitive gazes turned his way.

"I don't know what to say."

Malfoy grew dark. "You don't have to say anything, Harry. Just think about it. The man running this school used to run with the man responsible for killing your parents. There's really only one way you could feel about that."

"So what would you suggest?"

"Speak with my father. He's been trying for ages to get the public to see the truth about Dumbledore. To understand that he's not the benevolent grandfatherly figure he projects to the public. He's got a dark side, and his dark side is far worse than any would expect. He had you fooled, did he not?"

Harry nodded uncertainly. "I'll have to talk to Sirius."

Sirius. Harry thought about him for a moment. He had eventually managed to tell Sirius about the sorting, by which time it turned out he already knew. Thanks to Snape, of course, who had owled him to gloat. Not that Snape liked Harry by any means, he just loved the fact that Sirius would be upset. But he didn't sound upset, not in his response to Harry, but then again, he could just be brooding about the whole thing. He'd have to confront him over the holiday break coming up shortly.

Nott jumped in. "Do that. Remember, you said you would ask him to teach you some stuff, and you could teach it to us!"

Harry, noticing the change of subject, rolled with it. "What sort of 'stuff'?

"You know, auror stuff."

Harry shook his head. "He'll say we're too young. And we probably are."

Nott grunted, but wouldn't relent. "You still out to try."

Harry agreed, and the conversation went on, but Harry couldn't shake the ominous words Malfoy had left rotting in his brain.

0

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"So give me your best shot."

Harry and Sirius were in one of the spare rooms often used for dueling at number 12 Grimmauld Place. It was Harry's first day home, and Sirius had insisted that Harry show him what he had learned during his first semester away at school.

"Sirius, I really only know two spells that apply here, and only one of them is offensive."

"That's all? What the hell is Riddle teaching you?"

Harry seemingly pondered for a moment, before suddenly yelling, to the surprise of Sirius,

"_Stupefy_!" A jet of red light leapt across the room towards Sirius, who reacted quickly and batted it to the side.

"Impressive, Harry. Didn't know that one 'till I was a third year at the earliest."

Harry smiled. "It was the first thing Professor Riddle taught us in class."

Sirius relented. "I suppose you might be learning something worthwhile." He paused, before sending a stunning spell back Harry's way.

Harry furrowed his brow and concentrated for a moment. "_Protego_!" He shouted, a slight shimmering shield forming in front of him and taking the brunt of the spell.

Sirius stopped for a moment, slightly stunned. "Harry, again, I'm impressed. I hope you've been doing as well in your other classes."

"Something like that."

Sirius grinned. "So tell me, Harry, what's it like being a sneaky Slytherin?"

"Oh, you know, we go around cursing the other students at random, and generally getting in to trouble. It's sort of like being in my own big gang."

Sirius laughed. "That sounds about right. At least in my day. Tell me, how's Snivellus the potions professor?"

"As bat-like as ever."

"That sounds about right."

"He's been treating you right?"

"For the most part."

"And you've been doing alright with Ron, despite, well…"

"Despite my being a Slytherin?"

"Right."

"It's gone ok. He invited me to visit the Burrow over break, I was thinking about going."

"But…"

"But, I'm not sure how his family might respond to me now."

"I'm sure they'll understand. They've known you for a long time."

Harry kept going. "Also, Nott also invited me to spend some time with him over break."

"Nott?"

"Theodore Nott."

"Hmm. I'd have to contact his family. I don't know them personally, and I'd like to get a bead on them before I give my consent."

Harry nodded. "Understood. On a similar note, Nott's been encouraging me to try and learn some 'auror' type spells from you. I thought it might be interesting."

Sirius sized up Harry, who tried to stand tall under the scrutiny. "You think you're prepared for something like that?"

"I think I'm ready to try. What's there to lose?"

Sirius smiled at this. "Well, let's go for it. You ready now?"

"Absolutely."

With another grin, Sirius brandished his wand. "Show me that shield again."

"_Protego!"_ Harry shouted, and was rewarded with the sharp shimmer of the magical barrier.

Sirius shook his head. "Very well done Harry, I'm still quite impressed. Have all of your classmates progressed this far?"

"Not quite" Harry managed to eke out, sweating under the strain of maintaining the spell.

Sirius smirked and, without making a sound, sent a pair of ropes at Harry that passed straight through his shield and bound him and sent him to the floor, cursing.

"Harry, Harry, language! I'm shocked to learn you know such words."

Harry, muffled by the ropes, responded, "You taught them to me."

"So I did." Sirius waved his wand and with a quick _finite_ he was free. "So what just happened?"

"You hit me with some ropes." Harry struggled to his feet.

"Be more specific, Harry. Why did it work?"

Harry thought for a moment. "The ropes passed through my shield."

"Right. Why?"

"They weren't a spell?"

"Exactly. They weren't a jet of light, they were physical things, and a simple Protego won't stop those. Never get too comfortable behind your shield, they can always be broken or bypassed. When you're dueling with an opponent, you've got to keep moving. Let's try something now. You try to stun me." Sirius lowered his wand.

"You don't have to ask me twice." Harry smiled wildly and shouted "_Stupefy!_"

Harry's aim was dead on, but Sirius waited until the very last moment before simply sidestepping Harry's spell, grinning. He tried sending another stunner towards his godfather, and once again Sirius simply stepped to the side.

"You're going to have to better than that," Sirius taunted. "You've got to be more creative!"

Harry, frustrated, tried sprinting the length of the room in an attempt to catch Sirius off guard, casting two stunners as quickly as possible at where Sirius was and where he thought he might be next as he went.

Harry sighed, out of breath, as he saw Sirius deftly maneuver out of the way of both spells, robes flowing in his wake. "Atta boy, Harry. Starting to think. You can't just stand and cast spells; you'll never catch your opponent that way. But you aren't done yet! You still haven't hit me."

Harry looked up to see Sirius standing by the door wearing a taunting smirk. Harry bit his lip, trying to find a way through his godfather's defenses. He was proving far more nimble than Harry ever would have guessed. Sighing. Harry lowered his wand.

"I give up, Sirius, I can't hit you. Can we continue on with the lesson?"

Sirius relented, and laughingly returned to the center of the room. "Alright, alright. We'll keep the lesson moving. It will help, of course, once you've developed a larger repertory of spells which will greatly aid you in terms of the element of surprise."

Harry slowly inched sideways through this speech, trying to find a clear sight towards Sirius' back. He went on, "The truth is, Harry, that despite not knowing many spells, if you embrace maneuverability, you'll be able to take on wizards with much more experience than you, because most of them will simply stand and cast. They –"

Harry lunged into action, incanting "_Stupefy_" as softly as he could. He let out a growl of frustration as Sirius ducked lazily. He stood up and brushed away some imaginary dust on his shoulder.

"Harry, who do you take me for? You're a Slytherin! Of course I expected an assault from behind."

Harry sniggered. "Sirius, you should think about some of the things you say."

Sirius, grinning, put one arm around Harry's shoulders. "I think that's about all we'll get into today. Great job, though. I mean it. You seem to be doing quite well for yourself. We'll see about putting some more work in once the summer holidays come around."

"Don't they tell you not to practice magic over the summer?"

"Wrong, they tell _you_ not to practice magic over the summer. If the magic's being done here, there's no way for the ministry to know just who is casting the spell."

Harry tucked that bit of information away as he and Sirius headed to the dining room more than ready to take on whatever the elves had prepared.

After the meal, the two retreated to the Black library, where they spent the evening buried in their respective books. Harry, having finished the Bard's book had replaced it in the library with one of several defense texts strewn throughout the library, eager to get a jump on the second semester of classes in the subject, which had rapidly become his favorite. He noticed that Sirius had fallen asleep, the book that had failed to grip his attention flat on the floor.

Harry sighed, bookmarked his page, and stood while setting the defense text lightly on the chair, as not to disturb Sirius.

As he wandered the halls of his youth, he found himself wondering not for the first time what it would have been like to grow up with his parents instead of Sirius. Not that he didn't appreciate everything the older man had done for him, but the truth was he was hardly a parent. An auror, yes, one of the most skilled, but more of a brother than a fatherly figure.

The words of Malfoy still rattled in his head, and he couldn't shake them loose despite his best efforts. What would Sirius know about Dumbledore's past? Did it even matter? He had hardly come in to contact with the elderly headmaster during his tenure, he had no idea how he fit into the greater scheme of world events that seemed to be moving swiftly at the moment.

He knew from Sirius that in the aftermath of Grindelwalds defeat, he had been sequestered away at the ancestral home of his godfather in order to avoid any retribution from those who might wish him harm. There was also the added benefit of keeping Harry, the Boy Who Lived, in a place that was boarded up about as tightly as the Ministry of Magic itself. In the years that followed, the world had gradually shifted from the war burdened administration of Barty Crouch to the optimistic and exuberant reign of one Lucius Malfoy, father of his schoolmate Draco. The elder Malfoy had been in power for the better part of seven years, and the wizarding economy had flourished under his administration. His ascent to power had been bolstered from within the ranks of the ministry by a then senior ranking auror, Tom Riddle. The older man had campaigned hard for Lucius, and it didn't hurt that both had built themselves a name opposing the terror that was Grindlewald's army.

When Harry had told Sirius that his defense teacher went by the name of Tom Riddle, he grew agitated, explaining,

"_Harry, Riddle was one of the best, no, likely _the _best auror to come through the department in a long time. He was one of our greatest assets in the guerilla battles fought against Grindlewald's enchanted army. Once Grindlewald's power was broken, once you broke him, Riddle resigned, stating that he was no longer needed and that he longed to see the world. We were sad to see him go, but he was a powerful wizard, and powerful wizards are rarely content to remain long in the same place, Dumbledore being the great exception. To make this short, once he resigned, there was no word from him. Not for years. Not, to my knowledge, until now. Nobody had seen him. It's a marvel that Dumbledore was able to convince him to come out of retirement to educate students. You must understand how lucky you are to have that caliber of teacher."_

And so now the world was rapidly becoming a very different place than the one to which Sirius was accustomed. With the advent of anti-muggleborn legislation (their numbers were no longer needed now that the war had been resolved), the wizarding world had become a more and more insular place. The recent legislation was only the tip of the iceberg.

According to the mutterings that Harry had been able to overhear, more and more muggleborns had been pushed out of the ministry entirely. From what he could tell, Dumbledore had been the most vocal adversary to these developments, championing magic as a right of birth, no matter what sort, as long as magic was present. But Dumbledore's credibility had taken a hit when a young child had been able to do what he himself had not accomplished – the destruction of Grindelwald.

And so Dumbledore became more and more of a recluse, retreating to the safety of the walls of Hogwarts. He was still a member of the wizengamot, but no longer held the standing of a decade past. He was still supported by his faithful staff, McGonagall and Flitwick at the head, but there were even now rumblings about the safety of his position at Hogwarts.

Harry stopped and decided that he needed to know as soon as possible what part Dumbledore played in Grindlewald's rise, and his parent's death. Sirius was his best chance at acquiring this knowledge.

With determination, he turned and walked back towards the library. As he reached the hallway before the library, he saw a roused Sirius making his way towards the direction of Harry at a brisk pace. He gave Harry a nod, and attempted to walk by.

"Sirius." Harry's tone stopped Sirius for a moment.

"What is it, Harry?" He asked softly.

"What part did Dumbledore play in Grindelwald's rise?"

"Harry…"

"Sirius, I've got to know. I attend school under the man, and I just… I need to know."

Sirius sighed, looking far older than he had hours ago in the spare room. "Harry. I'm sorry, I'll tell you what you need to know, but I've got an urgent call right now that I must attend to. I promise, we'll have this discussion immediately upon my return."

Harry nodded. "Be safe, Sirius."

He flashed Harry a weak grin, and continued down the hall at a brisker pace than before. Harry turned away, listening to him go until the harsh patter of the quick footsteps could no longer be heard.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The waning hours of the night found Harry seated in the kitchen of the old ancestral house, a sliced and browning apple sitting on a plate in front of Harry, untouched. The front door slammed, jerking Harry out of his stupor. He looked up to see Sirius sit down on the opposite side of the table. The man in front of him was trying to maintain his composure, but his eyes and the bags under them betrayed his weariness.

A moment passed in a silence neither seemed inclined to break.

Finally, "What happened?"

Harry started as Sirius brought his head up jerkily, the dark eyes boring into his own.

Another moment, before Sirius looked away almost sheepishly.

"Harry, this isn't something I really want to be talking about. And really shouldn't be talking about with an eleven year old."

"Tell me, Sirius."

He shook his head. "I simply can't, Harry. It wouldn't be fair to you. Especially not the details."

Harry thought for a moment. "Is it something I'll be able to read about in the morning Prophet?"

Sirius shook his head, considering. "There's a strong possibility."

"So just tell me now, before I find out on my own."

Sirius pushed his chair out and stood from the table. "There was… an attack."

Harry frowned. "An attack?"

"Several, actually."

Harry just waited silently for Sirius to continue.

"Two first year Hogwarts students were killed, along with their families."

Harry sat up sharply. "Who?"

Sirius sighed softly. "A girl named Hermione Granger, and a boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley. Both muggleborn. Did you know them?"

Harry shook his head. "Not particularly. Knew of them. Met Granger once, in the library. We didn't talk for long."

There was something surreal about the idea that a person he had known, a person he had spoken to only recently was no longer there, no longer existed on the planet. Harry's head swam. "How'd it happen? Who, why?"

"The houses were a wreck. The bodies… safe to say they weren't in any reasonable condition. This wasn't the Killing Curse, no. This was worse than that. I won't go any further describing the scene to you."

Harry swallowed hard. "But who did it?"

"We don't know. We're at a loss. A complete, complete loss. There were no traces of magic that we could detect, there were no trails leading in any direction, there was simply nothing. It was as if the culprit just appeared from nowhere, slaughtered these people without using magic, and vanished once more. There weren't even any signs of apparition. And the only thing the two families had in common was that both families were muggle by heritage but had a child in their first year at Hogwarts."

"Jesus."

Sirius suddenly seemed to shake himself from his thoughts. "Harry, you really ought to sleep, it is far too late for you to be up."

"I couldn't sleep. Even before this."

Sirius crossed around the table to Harry's side. "Harry, you need sleep. We'll talk more more in the morning."

Harry sighed wearily and relented, agreeing to at least make one more attempt.

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Harry and Sirius didn't talk in the morning. The auror's job had become overwhelming, and they hadn't had the time to sit down and actually talk through Harry's concerns.

Knowing that would likely continue to be the case for a little while longer, Harry chose to accept Ron's invitation after all, and the next week found him in the dining room of the Burrow, surrounded on all sides by red hair. It was vaguely frightening, especially with the twins being seated directly to his left and right. Fireworks, he knew well, could go off at any moment. And he meant that quite literally.

And still, there was a subdued atmosphere to the holiday, which was almost certainly related to the attacks on the two muggleborn families. They'd tried to continue on as normal, but Harry could feel the strain, especially on Arthur, who was head of the department of magical law enforcement, and as such felt a great amount of pressure from the public to find the party responsible and enact swift justice.

The meal progressed, with the twins especially attempting to keep things light.

"So Harry," Started George, "would you mind terribly if we decided to prank the whole of Slytherin house?"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley admonished.

Harry smiled. He hadn't seen much of the twins while at school, and decided that he'd like to amend that. "Well, that depends on the nature of the prank. Would I be a target?"

Fred jumped in. "It would only be natural, after all, if everyone in the Slytherin house were hit except for you that would make you the prime suspect!"

"In that case, I'd prefer it if you didn't."

Fred and George grinned, with Ron smiling along with them. "I don't know if we can contain ourselves, isn't that right brother of mine?"

George nodded, and Molly threw them both a stern look. "I expect to hear nothing regarding pranks for this semester. You've got so much potential; I don't know why you won't take that energy and focus it on your school work!"

Arthur interrupted. "Now now, there's nothing wrong with a little fun, but do try to keep it in perspective." He raised his eyebrows, and the twins gave a nod. "And Harry, how has the school year treated you?"

Harry swallowed his portion of mashed potatoes before responding. "It's going well. I've been learning quite a bit. I'm especially fond of Defense class, Riddle is an excellent teacher."

"You only say that 'cause you're good at it." Ron interjected with his mouth still full. Swallowing, he continued. "Riddle is way too hard."

"Brilliant, though." Those were the first words Harry had heard Percy say all break. He turned to him.

"You think so?"

"I do. The man made quite a name for himself during the war and in the immediate aftermath. It is about time we had a competent teacher of the subject."

Arthur held up a hand. "Percy, you know Dumbledore hires the best he can find. There are precious few people wanting to take the post nowadays, given the way Grindelwald targeted those who did."

"Grindelwald's been dead for years!"

"And the stigma is just now wearing off. You'll see, Percy, even if Riddle doesn't stay for long, I expect that the class will remain up to the standards being set today."

Harry turned, inquisitively. "And why wouldn't Riddle stay?"

Arthur turned and gave Molly a glance before continuing. She sighed and nodded. "Well, to tell the truth Harry, there's little point for him to. The man's got a brilliant mind, and now that he's returned to the country, people will be clamoring for his services. I know that our department would love to have him back, in more of a leadership position certainly."

"I was under the impression that being a professor at Hogwarts lends someone a high level of respect."

Arthur nodded. "It does, but Riddle doesn't need it. He's a hero, Harry."

Harry went quiet for a moment.

"Harry, this is all just speculation. Of course there's the chance that Riddle remains your professor throughout your entire tenure at Hogwarts." Arthur smiled, but couldn't quite come across as if he really believed that statement.

Harry sat back in his seat and wondered.

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"So what's it like living with Malfoy?"

"He leaves me well enough alone."

"Still, sounds awful to me."

Harry and Ron were sitting in Ron's room. After dinner, the family had dispersed their separate ways, both the twins and Percy shutting themselves up in their rooms, although likely for vastly different reasons. Ginny had remained with Mrs. Weasley, and Ron and Harry had made themselves scarce as quickly as possible.

"I mean, it isn't as if I enjoy the situation. But the others aren't so bad, Nott especially."

Ron grunted.

"How's Gryffindor treating you?"

Ron smiled. "It is absolutely great. I love it. The other first years are a mix, but they're all quite nice, and it's great being in the same house as the twins. So far, I think that's all that's kept them from pranking me silly."

"Yeah, I'm getting a little worried. They were pretty quiet during the first semester."

Ron leaned back. "They've been preparing something big. They won't tell me what or let me get involved, but I know they've been working for a while on it."

Harry laughed. "That totally eases my nerves."

A soft breeze fluttered in the room as a silence passed between the two.

"Harry, I have a question."

Harry looked at Ron's suddenly strained eyes. "Shoot."

"Did Sirius tell you anything more? Anything that the Prophet might have left out."

Harry sighed, knowing exactly what Ron was talking about. "No, Ron. Not really."

Ron sat up. "Because if he did, Harry. I want to know. I want to know what actually happened. I need to know who."

"Were you close?"

"We weren't… we weren't best friends. She didn't really have a lot of friends at all. She was sort of brainy, a know it all. But we got along better than she did with the others. Sometimes I felt like I was her only friend in the world."

"Ron, I'm sorry."

His eyes drooped. "Don't be Harry. It isn't your fault. Are you sure that there was nothing Sirius told you?"

Harry thought for a moment. The paper hadn't gone out of its way to describe how the murders had taken place. He guessed that the aurors had asked them to keep the details quiet. But he knew that those details also wouldn't help Ron any. Not at all, would likely just make things worse.

"No Ron. There's nothing."

Ron sighed. "Goodnight Harry."

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It was the last day of the holidays, and Harry was not ready to go back, mainly because Sirius had been dodging the conversation he had promised. Harry wandered down the stairs from his room, and was surprised to hear several voices in the dining room. He made his way more silently, in an attempt to hear what was being said.

"That man is just driving me up the wall! I can't believe it. Dumbledore's an institution!"

It was Sirius' voice that he could first distinguish and pick out of the crowd. Another responded, a voice with which he was not familiar. "He's been working towards this for a long time now. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if he was somehow involved in those murders."

"That's quite the accusation, Alastor. And I wouldn't worry, Sirius. I'm quite secure where I am."

That was Dumbledore, Harry knew. Sirius responded. "Are you sure, headmaster? We've still never solved the Troll's existence, and Lucius has been too aware of the goings on at Hogwarts for my taste. There's got to be a mole."

"Lucius isn't our true enemy, Sirius. Keep that in mind."

"And who is?"

Dumbledore sighed. Harry, trying to get closer to hear more, stepped too heavily on the last stair, and it responded with a loud creak. Harry heard swearing as Sirius jumped towards the staircase, wand out. Spotting Harry, he sighed. "It's only Harry."

Dumbledore's voice could be heard from the room. "Allow him in, Sirius."

Sirius gave Harry a look. "Come on." Sirius pulled Harry into the dining room.

Harry found himself across from Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, and a man with whom he had no awareness. He had a large fake eye and a wooden leg. His face was scarred and a piece of his nose was evidently missing. As the man sized him up, Harry turned back to see Sirius.

"Harry, you of course know Headmaster Dumbledore, and this is Mad-Eye Moody, formerly my boss and head of the auror corps." Harry nodded to both. "Harry, I'd like to know what it was you heard."

Harry gulped. "I didn't hear very much."

Moody scoffed. "Tell the truth, boy."

Harry took a moment, but answered truthfully. "I didn't actually hear much, sir. Just something about Lucius and Hogwarts."

Moody and Dumbledore exchanged looks. "Harry," Dumbledore started, "It is absolutely essential that you keep the information you've heard to yourself. Do I have your word?"

Harry nodded.

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore turned back to Moody and Sirius. "The hour is late, I'm afraid I must be going. You'll keep me up to date?" He addressed Sirius.

"Of course, professor."

Dumbledore nodded, clapped, and his phoenix appeared on his shoulder. "Good evening to all of you." He clapped again, and vanished in a stream of gold.

Moody and Sirius sat down together at the table, with Harry still standing off to the side.

"Black, I'm afraid I'm not quite as optimistic as Albus."

Sirius gestured at Harry. "Sit, Harry, sit."

He did, as Moody leaned over the table. "So tell me son. What have you noticed during your time at Hogwarts?"

"Moody, there's no way Harry will have noticed. Don't you remember when you yourself were a first year? This sort of thing flies overhead."

Harry glanced at Sirius. "When you say noticed, what do you mean?"

Moody continued. "Has anything happened that you would deem out of the ordinary?"

"Well, other than the Troll?"

"Granted. Other than the troll."

"Nothing really. Malfoy shoots his mouth of about his father's influence, but that isn't out of the ordinary."

Moody turned to Sirius. "We could use that, you know."

Sirius cocked his head. "What are you saying, Moody?"

"I'm saying that your boy is in Slytherin. With the son of Lucius Malfoy. There's a chance that the younger one may have heard something, may be somewhat aware of what his father is up to."

Harry interjected. "There's no way someone would confide that much in Malfoy. He's something of an idiot."

Moody laughed. "Maybe so, son. But he still could have overheard. Are you averse to maybe trying to befriend the boy? To help your godfather and I with a little extra-curricular investigation?"

Harry turned to Sirius, who was looking back at him, wide eyed. "I could do it."

Moody stood. "Good man. Good man."

"What should I do specifically?"

Moody thought for a moment. "For now, just become his friend. Then, send me a message with that beautiful owl of yours." Harry looked at him curiously. "Sirius told me about your bird." Moody supplied. "That's all for now. Thanks for your hospitality Black."

Moody stood and turned out the door. Harry and Sirius were left alone in the gloomy room.

"You don't have to do this, Harry."

"I know."

"So why are you?"

"It sounds interesting."

"That's not a good enough reason."

Harry faced Sirius directly. "Tell me about Dumbledore."

Sirius sighed. "I don't know all the details."

"He was friends with Grindelwald."

"Yes."

"He supported his rise to power."

"At the start."

"And Grindlewald is the one who killed my parents. Lupin. Your best friends. The one who gave me this scar." He pointed to his forehead.

Sirius responded slowly. "Yes."

"Then how the hell do you stand in the same room with the man? How do you expect me to live in a school with him now that I know this?"

Sirius stood and spoke vehemently. "Harry, there's a reason that I follow the man. There's a reason he's the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The man is a genius, the most powerful wizard alive. Once he realized what his best friend was, what he had _become_, he separated himself forever from the man. He was instrumental in pushing Grindelwald out of the ministry, and used his magic and resources to help the aurors and other groups fighting the Dark Lord to survive! He's a good man, Harry. He's a strong man. And he feels that the darkness has not truly lifted, despite what Malfoy says, despite what the ministry says."

"Why did he never bring down Grindelwald himself? Or at least confront him?"

Sirius sighed. "I don't know, Harry. I'm not claiming that the man is without faults. But none the less, he is a very important man, and he is absolutely needed at Hogwarts."

"Grindelwald gave him that position! He's always been indebted to the man. That's why he never sought to destroy him personally!"

Sirius stepped towards Harry. "You don't know that. You can't know that."

"But it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"No, Harry, it doesn't. It doesn't make sense, because Dumbledore has devoted his life to fighting darkness. He's the bastion of Light in the world."

"So you say."

"So says the world!"

"Doesn't make them right."

"I don't know what else I can say Harry, other than give the man a chance. He's done nothing to harm you personally; he's only ever looking out for the welfare of his students. Give him a chance, Harry."

Harry thought for a moment, and then stood himself. "I'll try, Sirius. But I can't promise you anything."

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On the school bound edition of the Hogwarts Express, Harry found himself seated in a compartment with Malfoy, Nott, Tracey, and himself. He also felt distinctly uncomfortable, having been seated next to Tracey when Nott and Malfoy had chosen the other two seats in the compartment. He had found Ron at the beginning of the trip, but he was sitting with Thomas and Finnegan, but who gave him nasty glares upon eye contact. Ron shrugged, and Harry continued on his way to the Slytherin compartment.

"And Father says that the ministry will be looking to progress even further, expansion of the individual departmental powers, along with the minimization of the Wizengamot, which can only be a good thing. The duffers made the right move with the muggleborn legislation, but they cater too much to the whims of Dumbledore and his merry band of idiots."

Harry tuned him out. In many ways, he wished he hadn't made that deal with Moody. Malfoy was a prick, and Harry was not looking forward to spending more time with him. He whispered to Tracey, "I don't know what you see in him. All he ever talks about is his father this, his father that."

Tracey shot him a glare. "Shut up, Potter."

Harry obliged, wishing at the moment that he were anywhere else. Or at least that he could switch seats with Malfoy.

"So Harry," Nott threw in, "Did your godfather teach you anything?"

Harry nodded. "We worked on dueling technique. Not spells, per say. But we did practice."

"Meaning?"

"Well, we worked on footwork, the element of surprise. The two spells we've learned from Riddle so far should keep us in pretty good stead."

"But he didn't teach you anything new."

"I wouldn't say that. He just didn't teach me any new spells. Although I think he promised to over the summer."

"You'll have to show us, Harry. With an auror's techniques we'd be pretty much unstoppable. Could put those Gryffindor's in their place."

"I'm still relatively certain that the upper years could wipe the floor with us."

Nott nodded his head. "Of course they could, but what about the other first years? They wouldn't stand a chance."

Harry grinned. "So wouldn't it make sense for me to keep this to myself, so as to have an advantage on you all?"

Nott glowered. "Now's not the time to finally start acting like a Slytherin, Harry."

Harry laughed. "Oh no? Well I'm sure Malfoy could teach you a few things. Your father tutors you at breaks, doesn't he?"

Malfoy looked at Harry for a moment, and then looked down. "An important man like that, he'd hardly have the time."

"Well then, I suppose you'll have to take lessons from me."

Nott jumped in. "Are you offering?"

"Sure, why not?"

Malfoy thought for a moment. "I'm in."

Nott agreed with a nod, while Harry turned to Tracey. "What about you, Davis?"

She gave him a curt look. "Shut the hell up, Potter."

Malfoy grinned and Nott laughed.

Harry just sighed, turning to look out at the passing countryside as the Hogwarts Express continued on its winding path towards the Hogsmeade station.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_The truth was he was scared. _

_He wouldn't admit it to anyone else. He could hardly admit it to himself. _

_But Albus Dumbledore was scared. _

_He looked up at his longtime friend and companion from behind his brother's shoulder, only to see a wicked grin on his suddenly unrecognizable face._

"_Gellert. Please."_

_But his friend ignored him and spoke directly to Aberforth._

"_You understand, there's nothing you can do."_

"_You're wrong. Albus won't leave. He won't leave with you. Despite everything, I know he's not that person."_

_Gellert drew his wand and spoke impatiently. "Step aside. We must be off, Albus, there's precious little time."_

_But Aberforth Dumbledore stood his ground. "I will not move. If you want my brother, you will have to go through me."_

"_Albus, your brother presumes to speak for you. Your younger, less accomplished brother."_

_Albus finally spoke, his voice breaking. "He may be right. I've got to care for my sister."_

"_And why should the most brilliant wizard in Britain remain beholden to his family? They should be indebted to you, for you will bring the Dumbledore name great glory."_

_Aberforth took a step forward. "Go now, Gellert. Leave, and don't come back here. If you are so talented, you hardly need Albus to achieve your goals. So better be off now, if you truly carry such power. It would be a sign of weakness to rely so heavily on another, especially given that Albus himself is more powerful than you."_

_Gellert stood tall and glowered. "Don't presume, boy. It is only your relation to Albus that stays my hand even now. But do not test me. Albus, come."_

_Albus rose slowly to his feet. He stepped to his brother's side. _

"_Don't." Aberforth pleaded. "Please."_

_"I've got to." Albus took another step forward. Gellert grinned and extended his hand._

"_Come, Albus. And together we'll transform this world into a better place for our kind. For all of our families. For your sister."_

_Albus' face turned into a strange smile and he stretched out his hand to clasp that of his best friend._

_Aberforth drew his wand and shouted. "Stay away from him! Confringo!"_

_His blasting curse flew over Albus' shoulder and exploded as it made contact with Gellert's chest. He fell back to the ground in a shower of blood, Albus shouting and drawing his wand. _

_Aberforth stepped forward. "I'm sorry. I had no other choice."_

_Albus kneeled in the pool of blood at Grindelwald's side, furiously casting every healing spell he knew. _

_And both heard a chuckle. Grindlewald slowly rose above the kneeling Albus, his wounds quickly knitting themselves back together. "You can stop. I thank you for the effort. But it was unnecessary. You're brother's quite harmless, really." He laughed for a moment while rolling his wand fondly between his fingers. But I'm not sure I can stand for such an attempt. We can't afford to be lenient at this stage, Albus. _

_He looked Aberforth up and down. The younger Dumbledore had taken a dueling stance and was brandishing his wand nervously. Gellert smiled, and spoke softly. "Crucio."_

_A wicked light struck Aberforth and he fell to the ground writhing in agony. "I let you throw the first punch, but that's the only one you'll get." He maintained the connection as the seconds passed; the only sound that of Aberforth's strained screams. Albus looked on, horrified, but did not intervene._

_Finally, Grindelwald stayed his wand, and the connection was broken. Aberforth was left shaking on the ground and Gellert turned to Albus. "It's time. Come." He turned on his heel and started to walk away. _

_Aberforth had, by this time, managed to sit up. He looked at Albus with pleading eyes._

_Albus shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, brother. Truly I am. But we're going to change the world."_

_With that, Albus Dumbledore turned and ran to catch up with his best friend and companion, Gellert Grindelwald._

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Becoming friends with Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly easy. Not when, at every possible moment, Malfoy would gloat about his father's political victories over the muggle and muggleborn sympathizers. And the victories were many, small and big, public and private. But true to his word, Harry was trying. It was partially to this effect that Harry found himself spending two hours every Sunday with his Slytherin year mates practicing their casting dueling techniques. He had invited Ron, but both sides squashed that idea pretty thoroughly. They had all noted a subdued nature to the entirety of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Houses after the holidays, and the reason was abundantly clear. Both had lost a member of their population over the break.

"Malfoy, you've got to calm down, getting in a rage and bellowing your spells for the world to hear isn't going to make them any stronger!"

"Shut it, Potter." Malfoy seethed, but attempted the stunner again in more strained but softer tones and smirked to see Pansy hit the ground, having been hit by the spell inadvertently while crossing the room.

Harry quickly reawakened her, and turned to Nott. "Want another go around?

They were practicing in a spare room off the same hallway as their defense class, as to be out of the way. Very few students attended defense classes on Sunday.

Nott shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The defense curriculum had picked up during the early weeks of the second semester, with Riddle beginning to introduce them to minor curses and defensive tactics. Harry had continued his torrid pace in the class, often times being the first to understand and cast the spell being taught. Riddle, noticing Harry's proficiency, had continued to softly encourage the man to continue his studies on his own time, to advance himself. And Harry complied. More and more evenings were spent in the library, where he read several books he had taken from the Black library in addition to the tomes housed at Hogwarts.

But his proficiency in defense seemed inversely proportionate with his abilities in several other subjects, especially Transfiguration. He had spent a significant amount of time working with Nott on the subject to little to no avail, he had even once approached McGonagall for help, and she'd dismissed him by suggesting that he spend his time studying, and see how that helped first. It wasn't that he was entirely incapable; he wasn't the worst in the class. But he was in the bottom quarter, and that to Harry was unacceptable. And Harry was frustrated. He was frustrated about his classes other than defense, he was frustrated about his last conversation with Sirius, and he was especially upset with the fact that he hadn't had the courage to confront Dumbledore. One couldn't just walk up to the greatest wizard in a century and tell him off. It was more delicate than that. And so the frustration of Harry Potter mounted.

He was snapped from his thought process by Nott beginning their impromptu duel with a simple stunning spell. Harry, attempting to channel Sirius, simply stepped out of the way. Nott tried again, to much the same effect.

"You're going to have to do better than that!" Nott smirked, and simply sent another stunner Harry's way. He side-stepped once again.

"Eventually you'll have to do something other than move, Potter."

Harry smiled. "Make me."

Nott didn't have to be asked twice. With a shout, he began to sprint directly towards Harry. Laughing, Harry ducked to the side and cast a tickling charm for good measure.

Nott, surprisingly, ducked it and fired another stunner Harry's way.

This time, Harry stood his ground. "_Protego_," He muttered, and his magical field absorbed the impact of Nott's stunner. He smiled, and dropped the shield to return fire. But the moment his shield went down, he heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Malfoy shout "_Stupefy!_" from behind. He turned just in time to take the red jet in the face, and the lights went dark in Harry's mind.

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Harry had to suffer through the rest of the week with Malfoy gloating at every chance he could get. At the dinner table, Malfoy was telling everyone within range that he had taken down the 'great' Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived! Harry was seriously tempted to strangle the other boy, but remembering his promise to Moody, wisely refrained. He occasionally pointed out that Malfoy had interrupted his duel with Nott and had attacked from behind. Malfoy simply pointed out that he was Slytherin, and should expect as much. Harry would typically relent at this point, if only to placate the potentially volatile situation that could occur were he to disagree.

As they made their way to Potions, Malfoy was in a particularly vindictive mood, spurred on by his regained confidence discovered in the aftermath of his stunning Harry. Malfoy would even almost shove other students to the side of the halls, flanked by Nott, Zabini, and a somewhat unwilling Harry Potter. The Phalanx arrived and the foursome took their seats, Nott and Zabini paired up, leaving Harry to sit with Malfoy. They were among the last students to enter, but Snape paid them no mind, completely consumed with the papers on his desk.

As the bell rang, Snape stood up, eyes flashing, face twisted in a scowl. He took a step forward, and the class, realizing that this was not Snape's typical rage, grew deathly quiet. Snape stopped eye to eye with Ron Weasley, sitting in the front of the class next to Longbottom.

"Someone," He spoke dangerously, "Has been trespassing." With this statement, his eyes roved the classroom, as if the culprit would identify themselves by their sheer response to his first words of the period. He continued. "Several ingredients from my storage cupboard have gone _missing_. So this afternoon, I felt it would be best if each class could start with the very basic preparations for a potion called Veritaserum." He lingered on the word. "Now, none of you are capable of brewing this potion. Not a student here is. But I would like each of you to understand that such a potion exists, and that _I _am certainly capable of brewing said potion. You wouldn't want a few drops to _slip_ over your evening pumpkin juice."

The class looked nervously around at one another; even Malfoy seemed a bit green. Several students just seemed entirely confused as to what was going on.

"Mister Malfoy." Draco gulped. "Could you please relate to the class the nature of Veritaserum?"

"Sir, Veritaserum is a powerful truth drug. If you take it, you'll be unable to speak anything other than the truth until administered the antidote. Or the effect will wear off after the potion moves through the victim's system."

The class collectively took a breath, those who hadn't known the potion, like Harry, grew increasingly concerned.

"Correct, Mister Malfoy. You should also note that, if administered in too large of a dose, the potion can act as a particularly volatile poison." He smiled at this, and pointed his wand to the board. A long list of instructions appeared in white chalk. "I expect you to follow these preparation instructions to the letter. If you don't, I shall know, and you do not want to test me on this."

Harry peered at the board. The directions were almost indecipherable. He turned to Malfoy. "We're going to have to be careful here." Malfoy nodded in agreement, and the two set to work, the class entirely silent for the duration of the period.

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The next morning found Tom Riddle, former celebrated auror and current Defense professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, strolling down the hallway away from his office. It was a free period for the man, and as such he had several hours before the next gaggle of students set foot in his classroom.

He had been contacted by a former protégé, a former friend who had recently been making waves in the magical world. And he had granted him a meeting. Why not? He was curious as to what he was planning. It wasn't necessarily a signal of support, not yet. But he would hear the man out. Undoubtedly, there would be an offer. With the provision of leaving Hogwarts.

But, of course, that was out of the question. He was not planning on leaving the school for a long time. This was where he was meant to be. He could feel it. And Dumbledore must have felt it too.

As he walked, the sound of steps slapping on the cold hardwood floor echoed through the empty hallways.

"_Dumbledore" _Riddle thought out loud. Now there was an enigma. His tutor from many years past, the transfiguration professor had taken a specific interest, teaching him much in the way of magic in a personalized fashion that he had not replicated since for any other. And the man was the reason he was here now. Dumbledore had reached out across nations, made a trip halfway around the world, and he had found him.

It had been a rather compromising moment, to tell the truth, and Riddle wasn't completely willing to admit to the older man all of his actions over the years he had been abroad. He was concerned that if the Headmaster had appeared a day earlier, possibly even hours earlier, he would not have allowed Riddle to come out of seclusion and return to Hogwarts. As it was, there had been a dicey moment. In the aftermath, Dumbledore had arrived to see Tom following a trail of ashes to the remnants of what had once been a quaint muggle household, shirtless and scarred, blood smeared over one shoulder. For one swift moment, Dumbledore drew his wand, thinking Riddle responsible for the destruction. Raising his arms in surrender, Tom softly intoned that he was not the culprit. Lowering his wand, the older man sighed softly, and at that moment offered Tom Riddle the position of Defense against the Dark Arts professor.

It wasn't a lie. Riddle wasn't the one who had murdered those muggles and burned their house. That had been simply another muggle, for one small reason or another. Riddle had, however, used their bodies and their blood in a ritual of his own making. After all, why not make their deaths worthwhile? Tom had always been powerful. This was the simple plain truth. But he wanted more. More than simple power. Immortality.

Grindelwald's death had shown him something. Underestimating an opponent, no matter the circumstances, was a recipe for disaster, a sure sign of looming failure. Young Harry Potter had broken the power of a man who had successfully terrorized the wizarding world for decades, a man who had seemed unstoppable, a man who seemed able to do quite literally whatever he wanted. And so despite his own natural power, he vowed never to make that same mistake, never to think that he was already strong enough, powerful enough. He had grown stagnant as a part of the auror corps, and leaving that core was one of the best decisions he had ever made.

Second, perhaps, to his return to the hallowed halls he now strode through. He stepped into the entrance hall and opened the grand and ornate double doors. As he stepped over the threshold, the man who had been waiting for him grasped his hand and smiled. "Tom, I'm so glad to see you. It's been a long time."

Tom turned to face the supposed most powerful man in politics, the minister of magic. "It has indeed, Lucius. It has indeed."

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The pair sat facing one another over one of the small and dingy tables at the Hog's Head Inn. Lucius, with his small glass containing a clear alcoholic beverage, and Tom with a small basket of wilted crisps, which he picked at lightly.

"So tell me about Dumbledore."

"You've had more contact than I over the past several years."

Lucius sighed. "Yes, but you were always his favorite. His confidant."

Riddle smiled at that. "Fair point."

"So?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Has he ever considered retirement?"

Riddle snorted. "Not a chance. I highly doubt he'll leave the school until he passes on."

Lucius frowned at that.

"One thing, though. The man seems to have grown more and more reclusive as the years have passed. In some ways, he's hardly reminiscent of the man who taught me transfiguration as a student. He's more cautious."

Lucius thought for a moment. "While he was never my professor, I'll agree with you. I've been hearing less and less from the man. But would you say he's as strong as ever? Magically, I mean."

"What is it you really want from me, Lucius? I grow tired of the games."

Lucius took a sip, set it down calmly and quietly, and then leaned forward over the table.

"I want to remove Dumbledore. Entirely. Of course, I want you to join me in the ministry, perhaps as head of the auror corps?"

Riddle sighed. "I've no interest in leaving, Malfoy. And Dumbledore is the reason I am here today."

"That very well may be, but think for a moment, will you? What good has Dumbledore done anyone recently? The school's standards are slipping, Tom, don't tell me you haven't noticed. You, as a professor, must see firsthand. You were inventing spells during your tenure at Hogwarts. Snape, too. Can you honestly say you expect the same from any of your students?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Lucius, I don't believe that you have ever successfully crafted a spell yourself. Am I wrong?"

Lucius dismissed this point with a wave of his hand. "That's hardly the point. What I'm saying is, you've got to understand me here, I'm saying that there are no more prodigies. Dumbledore's system encourages mediocrity by treating every student in an identical manner. Puts them in and churns out a large number of wizards who can get by, yes, including muggleborns. But so very few of them become anything great. The average auror today would fall quickly to the weakest of decades ago, during the Great War."

Riddle thought for a moment. "It was necessary then. These are times of peace."

"You don't believe that."

Riddle sighed. "No, I don't. I believe that students and the general population should always be prepared for the worst. If you prepare for hard times you're more likely to cut them short."

Lucius pounded the table, drawing the ire of the few other customers in the musty inn. He continued softly. "Exactly. Exactly, Tom. And that's the collective morality I've been trying to instill during my time as minister. But Dumbledore is the opposition. Despite recent events, his positions still hold sway over the massive majority of the population. They all know him; all remember him as the kind and powerful grandfatherly figure from their school days. Were something to happen to him, a scandal of sorts, or even him simply losing his position as headmaster, there would be a vacuum of ideals, a vacuum of leadership. I would fill that void."

"Exactly why do I want this?" Riddle questioned.

Lucius paused for a moment. "Tell me, what is it you do want?"

It was Riddle's turn to take a moment, and Lucius continued. "Because you can have it. Whatever you want, you can take it."

"I've known that for ages, Lucius. I'm not sure there's a wizard alive right now who could truly challenge me save Dumbledore."

"And why do you feel indebted to him?"

"He trained me in a way he's never done before or since."

"He trained you as a weapon against Grindelwald."

"I know."

"It wasn't altruistic."

"I know."

"He doesn't truly care about you. He's not capable of it."

"You may be right. Then again, maybe not."

Lucius sighed, and stood. "I can't stay any longer, Tom. I've got to get back to the office. But I want you to consider my offer."

"What offer?"

"If you help me bring down Dumbledore, I'll see to it that you will be named the next Headmaster of Hogwarts."

And Lucius left the building, leaving a brooding Tom Riddle behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX  
**

_The crowds were eagerly watching and waiting, having come out in droves from across the nation to celebrate the event. As the minutes past, the crowd grew more and more restless, waiting for the celebrated speaker to appear. And at the moment the man suddenly appeared on the stage in a rush of phoenix fire the crowd roared its approval, and he took his place before the podium._

"_This is a crowning day for human achievement, for wizarding achievement. _

_The crowd once again responded, cheering him on. As he spoke his next words, the crowd grew hushed, transfixed by his every sentence._

_For too long the world and this country has been willing to bow down to the needs and whims of the transient minority. For too long, we've divested our country and our neighbors of the power which is duly ours and which is ours by birthright. The power which we are given by our parents and by our very natures. We have these powers individually. We have the innate ability to craft something from nothing, to build and erect with our own wands the world we want for ourselves and for our children._ _But when we examine the concept of power more closely, as a nation, we see that power, a nation's power, has three factors: First, in the numerical size of the population itself. This form of power is not and never has been present in our land. _

_We must accept that we are relatively few in number; that the vastness of our enemies, abroad and within our borders far outweighs the capability of our people to muster troops. Do not forget that every single day, millions of them wake up, inside our own lands, they go to work, they go to school, they build an army. We are dwarfed by their sheer size. For every one of us who lives in our land, the land titled to us by our forefathers, there live an entire thousand of enemies. People who would scorn you, threaten you, burn you for your very existence. _

_And so, if numbers themselves are no longer a power factor for our population, the second factor is territory. This, too, is not a power factor for us. We have no singular territory. We have no one boundary which none can pass through without our allowance. We have no territory that is truly our own, that does not have to be hidden from muggles. We do not have a territory that can provide for its own defense. Size and boundaries alone are a source of security to a population. If the first two sources of power, population and territory, are inadequate, there remains always the third, that which rests in the inner strength of a people. A nation can do astounding things when it carries this power in its own internal values. _

_What is the nature of a nation's internal power? Three things are involved: First, a people has intrinsic value in its race. That is the primal value. A people that has the best blood but does not understand it, squandering it, receives no protection from its intrinsic value. And the purity of blood means nothing if the nation can be persuaded of the absurdity that its blood is worthless. Such a deepest value can be present, but not recognized. Individual people today are placed in large groups that no longer enable them to see this value. To the contrary, their program almost claims that there is no value in blood. They see race as completely insignificant. Our innate advantage as completely insignificant._

_Second, internal power depends, aside from the value of blood, on the abilities that such a nation still has. A nation cannot be called impotent as long as it is able to produce the minds that are necessary to solve the problems crying out for solution. We can measure the greatness of a people by the minds it produces. That too is a value, but only when it is recognized as a value. If a nation has the ability to produce great minds a thousand times over, but has no appreciation for the value of these minds and excludes them from its political life, these great men are of no use. It can therefore collapse, in the best case perhaps passing on its inventions and ideas to the minds of other nations, teaching these nations, but no longer is it a nation called to lead itself._

_The third value hidden within a nation is the drive to self assertion. A people that has lost this has almost given up its place in the world, in which each living creature owes its existence only to the eternal striving to rise higher. If a nation today proclaims the theory that it will find happiness in lasting peace, and attempts to live according to that theory, it will one day inevitably succumb to this most basic form of cowardice. Pacifism is the clearest form of cowardice, possessing no willingness to fight for anything at all._

_Truly these three points that form the intrinsic strength of a people are no longer regarded in our world, our country. The opposite. As I have said, today one places no value on our blood, on the intrinsic value of our race, but rather apostles proclaim that it is completely irrelevant entirely. If a nation internalizes such thinking, its own values are of no use. It has renounced the protection of its values, for they too must be protected and encouraged. A people that sees its blood as worthless cannot possess the intrinsic will to withstand the competitive struggles of this world. It needs no great minds, does not even want them anymore. It will inevitably believe that all people are equal in terms of blood, and will no longer have a need to rise above the others. That is why one needs great minds. It will no longer desire to rise, and that is why one needs great spirits. Since such peoples no longer value their race and see themselves as the same as everyone else, and no longer feel the inner need for happiness or great men, they can no longer struggle, nor do they desire to._

_That leads to what the large parties proclaim, namely to a nation that thinks internationally, rejects struggle, and preaches pacifism. A people that has accepted these three human burdens, that has given up its racial values, preaches internationalism, that limits its great minds, and has replaced them with the majority, that is inability in all areas, rejecting the individual mind and praising human brotherhood, such a people has lost its intrinsic values. Such a people is incapable of policies that could bring a rising population in line with its territory, or better said: adjust the territory to the population._

_All this would be in vain if the fundamental values were not there. The only thing we may be proud of is this: We have this value; we have our blood-building value, the best proof of which is the great men of world history over the millennia. We have this value of race and personality. We have a third value: a sense of battle. It is there, it is only buried under a pile of foreign doctrines. A large and strong party is attempting to prove the opposite, until suddenly an ordinary military band begins to play. Then the sleeper awakes from his dreams and begins to feel himself a member of a people that is on the march, and he marches along. That is how it is today. We only need to show our people the better way. They see: we are marching already! _

_This day, this great day, is a sign and proof enough of that. But I must make one more point, before I relinquish the podium and you to your celebrations, which you have undoubtedly earned. _

_We deceive ourselves if we believe that the people want to be governed by majorities. No, you do not know the people. This people does not wish to lose itself in "majorities." It does not wish to be involved in great plans. It wants a leadership in which it can believe, nothing more._

_I am that leadership. And you have what you desire."_

_As Gellert Grindelwald stepped back from the podium the crowd erupted in cheers, chanting his name. As he stood, basking in the glory of the moment, he felt the weight of his friend's hand clasping his shoulder. Albus, standing at his side, spoke. "The day has come. The day has finally come." And a smile spread across his face._

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Harry stood, transfixed by the sight in front of him.

He could see his parents. He could see his grandparents. He could see his family. He had never seen his family before. There had been pictures, of course, but these; these were so much more. He could hardly believe it, but there they were.

He couldn't touch them, of course, and he couldn't speak to them. But seeing them was something. Seeing them was enough. Seeing them surrounding his very form – well that was something altogether unquantifiable. And he could not leave. He would not.

Night after night, at all hours, he visited them. And their eyes spoke to him, stayed with him, would not leave him. And he went through his mornings, his evenings, his classes, in a stupor.

And this evening was much as those over the previous week. Only this week, he discovered, he was not alone.

"Back again, Harry?"

He wheeled to see the aged form of his headmaster standing behind him. Somehow, he had missed him on his way in.

"Yes, sir. I am."

The old man sighed. "Do you know what this is, Harry Potter?"

"It shows me my family."

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, it shows me my own."

A moment passed in silent reverie.

"Do you know what this mirror does, Harry?"

"Sir, I have an idea."

The headmaster raised an eyebrow.

"It shows me my family."

"Yes."

It shows me what I want.

"Close, Harry. Close."

Harry sighed. "Sir?"

"This mirror shows you nothing less than your greatest desire. It shows you your family, the thing you want most in the world."

"I have Sirius."

"Indeed. An able guardian, but hardly a replacement."

"It shows you your family. I was unaware, sir, that you were an orphan."

The age lines on Dumbledore's face grew, if possible, more prominent in that moment.

"Alas, I was not an orphan, Harry. But that's a story for another time. You have a good head on your shoulders, I don't think it necessary for me to explain the dangers that this mirror possesses."

Harry stood, still unable to draw his eyes from the image. "One could become… obsessed."

"Exactly, Harry. Exactly."

"And so?"

"I will be moving the mirror to a new hiding place tomorrow. I must ask that you do not go searching for it again."

Harry finally turned to face Dumbledore. "Sir, I've never seen my family before this."

"You have pictures, certainly. Sirius …"

"Is great, but with all due respect, picture's can't compare."

Dumbledore gave him a pained look. "I'm sorry, Harry. It simply isn't safe. The mirror will be moved, regardless of your feelings."

Harry, feeling obstinate, turned back to see his parents.

"Harry." The headmaster chided. Harry didn't respond. "Harry."

Harry still stood, ignoring Dumbledore's admonishment.

"Harry!"

This time Harry turned, eyes flashing.

"Sir." He spoke bitterly.

"This is for the best, Harry. You know that."

"Somehow, professor, I'm just not entirely willing to admit that."

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, you're not thinking clearly."

"Maybe not."

Dumbledore's hand clasped Harry's shoulder. "I'm sorry Harry. Truly, I am."

"Headmaster."

"Mr. Potter."

"I have a question." Harry looked at him shortly.

"By all means. Although I must warn you, some questions I may not be able to answer."

Harry frowned, but continued. "And I'm almost certain that this may be one of those."

Harry paused for a moment, framing his question.

"Sir. The night my parents died. The night they were killed." He broke off.

"Go on, Mister Potter."

"What happened? Why were they targeted?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, Harry, I do not know the answer. I wish I did, for then I could give you some sort of satisfactory answer. Alas, that is not the case."

Harry continued. "In that case, professor, perhaps you could tell me why it was you supported Grindelwald on his rise to power. Why you supported the man who killed my parents."

At this, Dumbledore turned gravely white. "Harry…"

Harry turned away from him, back to the mirror. "I didn't think you would truly answer, sir."

"No, Harry, I owe you a response."

Harry looked up. "Professor?"

"Harry, what you're asking, I'm guessing you already know some of the truth. From Sirius?"

"Sir, don't be angry at him."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course not, Harry, no. I'm not angry at Sirius. In fact, I fully understand your desire to know my place in history. I'm sad to say that yes, I was involved in the Dark Lord's uprising. In fact, as you likely know, I supported him from the beginning. What could I do? In my youth he was my best friend. Surely you recognize that desire. To help a friend, to support him and help him achieve his aims."

"Sir, I don't believe my friends would attempt to take over and enslave the world."

Dumbledore sat in one of the abandoned desks left in the room. "Enslave? An interesting choice of words. Tell me, Harry, what do you know of Grindelwald?"

Harry swallowed hard. "He killed my parents."

"Yes."

"He was the minister of magic for a full two years in the late nineteen twenties."

"Correct."

"I'm told that he left for the continent for the next several decades, and returned to regain power over the country."

"This is all true, Harry."

"And when he returned, he systematically and ruthlessly attempted to eliminate all competition. He enchanted a portion of the population through unknown means to attack the ministry through an attempted overthrow. He himself fought in the battle of London in Diagon Alley."

"Think for a moment, Harry. Have you ever heard of a method invented to enchant others on such a widespread basis?"

Harry shook his head.

"Nor have I. And if, in my years of living, have not come across it, I believe it is safe to say that it does not exist. Grindelwald did not enchant the populace, Harry, although that is a story widespread so to not allow the general population to realize that their brethren might be so willing to turn against them for the right price or purpose."

"But either way, he attacked, and was beaten back. Although he was not killed. It is said that you trained professor Riddle himself to fight in that battle, and that he helped to turn the tide against Grindelwald."

"That section is true enough."

"So tell me, professor, if all of this is correct, and the Dark Lord terrorized the world for over four decades, why is it you question my knowledge of Grindelwald? Would you not try to know everything you could about your parent's murderer?"

Dumbledore lifted a finger. "Ah, Harry, but you did not _know_ him. I believe that I truly did."

"And?"

"He did not hope to enslave the world."

Harry sat as well. "So what was it he was attempting to do?"

"For the Greater Good. That was our slogan. We were trying to make the world a better place. A place where there needed to be no more hiding."

"And so what happened?"

"Gellert took that to the extreme. To my eternal shame, I could not see it. Not at first. And so when he was elected to the post of Minister of Magic, I believe that we truly had begun. We were going to change the world."

"You didn't."

Dumbledore chuckled. "No, we did. Just not as I had planned. Instead of freeing our population from its chains, Gellert chose to go on the offensive. I found that he had been planning invasions of several of our neighbors, wanted to rule by conquest. I challenged him then, and he flew in to a rage, banishing me forever from his sight. I can say that I already held some political sway, and used my memory of this event to have him thrown from office by the Wizengamot. And the world was changed forever, as Gellert swore eternal revenge. You know much of the history from that point on."

"Sir. How can I sit here with you? How can I study in your school? If it weren't for your actions, my parents may be alive today! I wouldn't be an orphan!"

Dumbledore's eyes drooped. "There may be truth to that statement, Harry." He continued to speak, softly, to himself. "I've grown so old. Some days I wonder what I am still doing on this earth."

Harry stood, his temper rising. "Nothing you've told me has convinced me that I should view you as anything other than a manipulating old man who contributed to the greatest tragedy in my life. How else can I see you?"

Dumbledore looked up, almost frightened. "Harry, you must understand. I wish for nothing but your happiness. I owe you a debt of gratitude that I will never be able to answer for. You rid this world of its great evil, my great sorrow."

"And yet I hardly see why you never took the chance to attempt the same." Harry spat.

"What can I say, Harry? I am a flawed man. I believe that to be the case of many."

"Move the mirror, fine, professor, I don't care. But I can't stand to be in the same room with you any longer."

Dumbledore pleaded. "Harry, please!"

But Harry Potter had already fled the room in a rage of swirling emotions. Albus Dumbledore sighed and stood and turned to face the mirror that had once captivated him so. He saw himself, arm slung around his old best friend, the sandy haired youth who smiled brightly in the moonlight. He saw himself and his friend from long ago and could not help but close his eyes in sorrow.

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As Harry stumbled through the empty corridors, oblivious to the world around him, his thoughts jumbled as he tried to clear his head for a moment. But to no avail, the cobwebs relentlessly pushed against his sanity, straining his mind to its limit.

At moments he thought he could hear whispering in the darkness. His parents' faces flashed before him in a whirlwind. The portraits sleeping around him seemed to be speaking his name from afar, and as he ran Harry Potter shuddered.

As a gust of wind swept around him (Harry thought this was strange, given they were indoors), he heard a soft mewing in the distance. He turned to run in the opposite direction, and found himself face to face with the caretaker of Hogwarts, Argus Filch. The man cracked a grin, delighted to have found a student out of bed.

But Harry, in no mood for this, simply barreled into the man and swept passed the surprised caretaker. Swearing, Filch hurriedly pursed Harry through the halls, swearing as he went.

Harry could run, but he did not know the corridors like Filch did, and soon found himself penned against his will at one of the many dead ends the castle contained. Filch, trapping him, smiled with malice. "This should be fun. You shouldn't run from me, you little –"

Harry cut him off, hardly in the mood to deal with whatever the deranged man in front of him had in mind. "_Reducto!" _He shouted in frenzy, and the floor in front of Filch cracked and debris went in several directions. Filch was not deterred, and continued towards the young first year. "_Stupefy!_" Harry called, and the jet of light struck home.

Harry sprinted past the prone body of the caretaker and continued back towards what he thought was the direction of the Slytherin house. He slipped past the defense hallway and through the transfiguration classroom, in truth he didn't really know where he was going, or specifically how to get back to the common room. He hadn't spent much time to that point roaming the halls at night, and it showed in his inability to recognize his surroundings.

He finally managed to find himself near to the Slytherin common room, only two floors up. Thinking himself home free, he sighed and tried to find a point of orientation after his conversation with the headmaster. At that moment, the shadows grew even darker in front of Harry. He looked up to find himself face to face with the potions master, his head of house, Severus Snape. He sighed in defeat.

"A word, Mister Potter, if you will."

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(Disclaimer: Parts of the speech by Grindelwald are not my own and have been reproduced from Hitler's speech in 1927 at Nuremberg)


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

This was it. He would be expelled. There was little way around that. He had verbally assaulted the headmaster and physically assaulted the caretaker, and of all of the people, Snape had been the one to find him and bring him to justice.

Or so Harry thought.

And so he was bewildered to find himself handed a steaming mug of tea in Snape's office. It was passed midnight, and Harry guessed that he could count the number of student that had taken tea with Snape in his office on one hand. Possibly one finger. But there he was.

Snape settled into his chair behind the desk, while Harry sat idly stirring his tea. Several moments passed, and Harry began to wonder exactly what he was in for with his professor.

Finally, Snape spoke.

"It is past curfew, Mister Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet I hear you had a most curious conversation with our esteemed headmaster."

Harry frowned. He'd heard about that already? Then there was likely little he didn't know of the night's events.

"You could say that, professor."

Snape sighed and sipped at his tea. The surreal feeling Harry had gotten earlier in the evening came back with full force. He shouldn't be here. Why was he here? Why was Snape not yelling wildly? Instead, he had tea. Quite good tea, if he were honest with himself.

"Professor?"

"Harry." The boy was startled to hear his professor use his first name only.

Snape continued. "You shouldn't have done that."

Harry didn't need clarification, because that sentence pretty much fit his entire night.

"No sir."

"And yet I understand, Potter. In a way, I understand. Things are moving, Harry, and you'd best be careful, for the world is rapidly becoming a different place than the one I remember."

Harry wondered at this, not completely grasping what Snape was trying to say. In any case, this entire conversation seemed completely out of character. But he went on.

"And so while you may distrust Professor Dumbledore, while you yourself more than just about anyone else has reason to distrust him, I must warn you. Do not jump to conclusions. Do not allow your temper to overwhelm your rationality. Because there are far worse people in the world one could follow than Albus Dumbledore, of this I can assure you."

Snape sighed, with a wistful look on his face. "I was surprised to see you in Slytherin. Raised as you were by your godfather, I had assumed you would be tainted and taught to believe the vileness of the house in general. Sirius Black is not known for his tolerance or a penchant for forgiveness and open mindedness. And yet here you stand. Mind you, this is hardly a compliment, except that you have somehow managed to satiate the minimum requirements I hold for every first year member of our house. You have not rejected it outright."

A moment of pause, as Snape sipped his tea. Harry did not dare interrupt the man's musings.

"You do not remember war, Harry Potter. You only remember peace. A peace helped to be brought about through you, not your actions, but your very existence. And so growing up you were isolated but safe, there were no threats to your existence, there were no true fears, fears of not waking up the next morning. I am unaware as to your knowledge of the war, but you must understand something about Albus Dumbledore if you are to know him at all, if you are to realize why he is the man he is today.

Albus Dumbledore has never truly experienced peace. His entire life has been riddled with strife and conflict. It comes with being the most adept wizard of his era; to my knowledge the man has never stopped fighting. He has sins to atone for, certainly. But he has done more to stem the coming tide of darkness than any other ten in the last century combined. He may have sins to atone for, but he need not atone to you. You, Harry Potter, are not fit to be his judge. Not a man in this age old country is. And so before you condemn the man, realize this. Every man plays the hand he is dealt. Without Dumbledore, there is a strong chance that this school would no longer exist, and you would never have been born. Distrust him if you will, but he deserves more that your scorn, your contempt."

"Why are you telling me this, sir?"

"I'm telling you this, Potter, so that you _know_. Simple as that. For someday, it might be important."

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There is nothing quite as difficult as waking up the in morning after receiving only a few hours of sleep. This, Harry knew to be true. So waking up the morning after his night's adventures was, needless to say, something of a nightmare.

That morning found Harry making his way towards the defense classroom, his first class of the day, stomach rumbling for the lack of food. He had chosen sleep over breakfast, and even now did not regret the choice. So far he hadn't faced any repercussions regarding his altercation with Filch, but he assumed it was only a matter of time. As he walked, he fell in step with the others, with Malfoy and Nott, as they continued on their way, Draco's hand clasped Harry's shoulder.

"Potter, a word."

They stopped, there in the crowded hall, and Malfoy waved Nott on, who complied with a shrug.

"Well, Malfoy? What is it?"

"My father's been asking me questions about you, Potter."

"Oh? And why should your father be so interested in me?"

Malfoy glared at him. "Don't be absurd, you know just as well as I do. You're the Boy Who Lived. Naturally the minister would take an interest in you."

Harry smiled softly. "Indeed. Go on."

"He's asked me so many questions, and I've told him he might as well just speak to you personally. You know he's been attempting that for a while."

"Sirius grants no interviews, period."

"He's not your father."

"He's my godfather."

Malfoy looked strained. "He's not here now."

"No, he isn't. Neither is the minister."

"But he could be, Harry, if you wanted. He can come and go as he pleases. You'd do well to befriend him."

Harry grew thoughtful. "Why are you so adamant, Malfoy? Why the interest?"

Malfoy scowled. "I'm sick and tired of hearing about you, Potter, and that's the god damned truth. Even my own father talks more about you than he does about me. If you'll just get your head out of your ass and talk to him maybe he'll see what an idiot you are, or at the very least at least stop going on about how he needs to speak with you. I'm sick of it, Potter, so why don't you just shut the hell up with whatever you're going to say and send my father an owl with the date and time for the interview. God knows he'll rearrange his schedule for you."

At this, Malfoy turned on his heel and stormed down the hallway. Harry let him get out of view before following his trail to the defense classroom, where Riddle and the rest of the class were waiting.

Harry slipped into the classroom and made his way into the open desk at the back of the room. Here, he dwelled on the previous night's events, tuning out the lecture being given by Professor Riddle. Nothing personal, he just had a bit much on his plate at the moment.

Dumbledore had infuriated him, that was certain. And yet, he could not simply ignore what Snape had said, despite the bizarre circumstances of their conversation. He had never spoken more than a few terse lines to the man, and suddenly there was this outpouring of… something. For some reason or another, Snape found it seriously important that he trust Dumbledore. That he followed him. Why?

Harry shook his head. He had no answers. He certainly had questions, but no answers. And there was also the problem of the persistent Lucius Malfoy. Of course, he had never met the man, and if he could say the man was persistent without even having met him, it certainly made him nervous about the prospect of speaking with him. What would he ask for? He had vague ideas, of course, but once again felt in over his head.

He was roused from his introspective mood by the class buzzing around him. Others in the class had begun to stand, and were moving their desks to the side of the room. Harry assumed this meant a practical of some sort. He stood, sighing, and hoped that he wouldn't be called on first.

"We'll begin by pairing Mister Thomas with Mister Potter."

Naturally.

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Harry Potter was in detention. He had expected this, of course, as a result of attacking a member of the staff; he was surprised he had not been punished beyond a week's worth of detentions.

The surprising thing was that Harry was not alone in scrubbing cauldron bottoms without magic. Indeed, one Tracey Davis was also on her knees, kneeling at the base of a cauldron, trying her best to clean a dank yellow stain that she was also afraid of getting particularly close to. Harry found himself watching her as often as he was actually cleaning. Not that anything wouldn't have presented a welcome alternative to cauldron bottoms.

Harry attempted to initiate contact "What'd you do to get in here?"

"Potter, I don't want to talk to you. So kindly shut your face."

This was the typical response, and one Harry had been expecting.

An hour passed in silence with Snape just behind the door in his office.

Harry decided to try again. At least it would break the monotony.

"Couldn't have been good. Snape doesn't usually give us detention."

She just glared at him once again, without speaking.

"Fine." Harry said, giving up and getting back to the cauldrons.

But Tracey sat up. "Do you want to know why I hate you, Potter?"

"By all means."

"Well first of all, you're an idiot."

Harry chuckled. "Noted."

A moment passed without her continuing.

"Is there anything else?"

"You're entirely clueless. You hardly realize the influence you could be wielding, instead you let Draco fucking Malfoy try and throw around his minimal weight. Really, it's just embarrassing for all of us."

"And that's why you don't like me? Because I don't try to be the constant center of attention?"

"You have quite literally every advantage. The professor's love you –"

"Other than McGonagall."

"Dumbledore, Riddle, even Snape – think about the things you get away with."

Harry stood and sat at one of the desks. "I'm sure I don't cause that much trouble."

Davis sneered. "Get off it, Potter. Everyone knows it was you who attacked Filch. If it were anyone else, they'd have been suspended at the very least. But because you are you, here you are, with only a week's worth of detention."

"That isn't my fault."

"Of course it isn't, but you don't seem to understand that you could use it!"

Harry shrugged. "And so that's why you treat me like dirt."

"You get under my skin, Potter."

"This is the longest conversation we've ever had! How could that possibly be the case?"

"Leave it."

Harry fumed silently for a moment. "That can't be everything. There's something else."

Tracey did not respond.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

She sighed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe there is."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Fine, Potter. I'll tell you."

She stood, brushing the dust from her robes. "But not tonight." With that, she went to Snape's door and knocked. The door opened, and Tracey called in. "Sir, I'm finished." Snape's head appeared through the door, and then nodded. Without another word, Tracey stepped from the door and left the classroom.

Snape's eyes found Harry on the other side of the room. "You've still time to serve, Potter."

Snape then closed the door, leaving Harry alone in the room with a bevy of still encrusted cauldron bottoms.

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Not for the first time, Harry wondered what the hell he was doing there. He was in over his head, with quite literally no knowledge of the political system in the country outside of the fact that there was indeed a minister of magic; he was sort of important.

And he was sitting at Harry's side, the two alone in the Great Hall, the Minister having been seen in by Professor Riddle himself. Riddle had given Harry a small smile as he left, but this did little to soothe Harry's nerves.

Lucius Malfoy smiled softly, noting the uncomfortable tenor of the boy's body language.

"The world is a changing place, Harry – I may call you Harry? The world is constantly shifting, of course, but the winds of change are blowing now more swiftly than any are used to, and that includes me.

But I don't want you to misunderstand, Harry. This change is good, this change is necessary, for the good of our people, our population. For too long we have been allowing our traditions to fall by the wayside, for too long we have ignored the plight of the core population, the true constituents. Harry, do you follow what I'm saying?"

Harry shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure."

Lucius changed tactics suddenly. "Harry, who would you say is your favorite professor here at Hogwarts?"

Harry tilted his head at the shift, but responded easily. "Professor Riddle, sir."

The minister smiled. "I expected to hear that, Harry. And I'm happy to say that I agree with your assessment." He spoke softly now. "And tell me, Harry, how do you feel about your headmaster, Professor Dumbledore?"

A moment passed without Harry responding.

"Harry? If you're worried about repercussions, rest assured, I shall not divulge your answers to a single soul."

Harry looked away from him. "That's not really my concern, sir. The headmaster knows how I feel."

"And how do you feel?"

Harry sighed inwardly, thinking to himself that he probably shouldn't tell this man exactly what had happened… he had a feeling that wouldn't end well for Dumbledore. But regardless of Snape's comments, he was still upset.

"It's… complicated."

Malfoy waited calmly for the boy to elaborate.

"He's a great wizard, Professor Dumbledore."

Malfoy managed a smile. "And nobody doubts that, Mister Potter. But I'd like to know how you _feel_."

Harry shrugged. "It's personal, sir."

A dark look danced across the elder Malfoy's face for just a moment before fleeing.

"That's quite alright, Harry. Why don't we continue?"

Harry nodded, relieved. "Of course."

"Are you content, Harry, with your current residence?"

"You mean living with Sirius."

"Correct."

"Absolutely, Sir. Why do you ask?"

Malfoy paused. "You're welfare is very important to the Ministry, Harry. We want to be sure that you're being afforded every comfort as you deserve."

"I'm happy with Sirius, sir."

"And I'm glad to hear it. Now Harry, I have a question to ask you."

Harry tilted his head.

Malfoy smiled. "Harry, would you say that you view the ministry of magic in a positive light?"

Harry responded slowly, thinking through what he knew. "I would probably say that, sir, I believe. Although I'm not certain about Rosier's bit."

"Ah, you mean the legislation regarding upper level ministry workers. Of course, Harry, I would certainly agree that there's something unfavorable seeming about the way in which it targets a certain portion of the population. I can't say that I truly supported it myself, but you know, Harry, that there are certain intricacies of my job, and I can't always strike down every bit of legislation I find undesirable. And you would say, otherwise, that you tentatively approve of the job the ministry has been doing?"

Harry shrugged once more. "I suppose so."

At this, Malfoy smiled a wide toothy grin. "I'm glad to hear it, Harry. I'd been hoping to hear you say that. And this is because I would like to extend to you an opportunity to spend some time around the ministry as you continue your education at Hogwarts. Basically, I'm extending you the offer to come shadow myself and other high profile ministry workers to get a sense of what the ministry actually does."

"Sir? I don't want any special treatment."

"Nonsense, Harry. This is a rare opportunity for one your age. And you can never be young to start thinking about the future. I know it seems a long way off now, but once you finish at Hogwarts, this sort of experience to help you to gain a high level position in the field of your choice."

Harry thought for a moment, weighing the benefits. He had no particular reason to say no, and the minister made a compelling argument. "I'd be willing, but I should ask Sirius before I commit."

Malfoy frowned slightly. "Of course, Harry, of course. Will you promise to owl me as soon as you're certain you will participate?"

"I promise."

"And I'll hold you to that, Mr. Potter." Malfoy stood. "I hope to speak to you again soon."

With that, Lucius Malfoy flashed Harry a quick smile, before turning smartly and striding for the door, leaving Harry alone in the Great Hall with his thoughts.

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Lucius Malfoy smiled to himself as he made his way down the winding path to Hogsmeade. The seeds were planted, and soon Harry Potter himself would likely be seen around the ministry, would be indoctrinated in to the system. If there was one way to gain support for an argument or a seemingly unfavorable law, it was to put a smiling young face on it. Especially a face a famous and loved as that of Harry Potter.

The boy himself was actually something of an enigma. Much more reserved than expected. He had been surprised to hear that Potter had been sorted a Slytherin, the reverse of both his parents and the general trend of his familial line. His son, Draco, did not hold Potter in particularly high esteem, but that was of no matter. In his opinion this disdain was likely the result of the superior power both figuratively and literally that Potter could wield. This, he knew, by testaments from Tom.

And the fact that Riddle held favor with the boy was a promising sign. If the students of Hogwarts were predisposed to the professor, it would go a long way to smoothing over Dumbledore's exit.

And that was something in the works. Dumbledore himself did not know it, but he had been finding and speaking with members of the board of governors who held unfavorable feelings regarding the current headmaster. And he had begun to work them, convincing each that their grievances were absolutely warranted, that the perceived slights (and facing the truth, many of them were merely perceived) were considerable in scope and were indeed factual and unforgivable. And so behind the scenes a movement was growing. Slowly at first, but by now, now he could move his timetable up.

If Riddle truly signed on, he believed that Dumbledore could be ousted as soon as the coming summer. And this would be a radical and prosperous change indeed. Prosperous for one Lucius Malfoy along with the causes he championed: a more liberal approach to education with regards to the dark arts, more strict requirements for admittance into the esteemed school of magic, and of course the banning of muggleborns from attending the school entirely.

But he would start small, for these changes would be gradual at first. It all stemmed back to Dumbledore. As long as he remained at Hogwarts, none of this was possible. He would be blocked at every turn by the meddlesome old man. Lucius had a healthy respect for the man. It was the reason he knew he had to be removed for the rest of the plan to become reality. Because, as it turned out, much of the wizarding world's interest lay within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. And due to this phenomenon, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was a particularly political position, it always had been, and that politicizing of the post had been exacerbated by Dumbledore, of course. Dumbledore – the bastion of the light, as they said.

Of course, he didn't expect him to go down without a fight. But if petitioned and removed by the board of directors, what, really, could he do? His credibility would be shot, his political maneuverings halted in their tracks. And this was necessary. And Lucius Malfoy would prevail.

It was with a whistle that the minister of magic's steps brought him to the village of Hogsmeade. He looked for a moment with a touch of nostalgia, before vanishing – only a slight pop in the wind left behind.

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_Voldemort._

The name churned in his mind, vicious, unrelenting.

_Voldemort._

That name simply wouldn't let him forget.

_Voldemort._

"That's enough!"

Tom Riddle's voice echoed through the long hallway the room had provided him with in which he could brood, the hours of the evening growing steadily later (as they are wont to do).

There was something about that name, a sort of power that Tom did not fully understand. The name he had crafted in his school days, the name that even now only a few confidants from generations prior remembered.

Most of those who had known his assumed name were now dead, through one means or the other. Most lost to the dark war, having fought on the losing side. It was a fate that could have easily been shared by him, had Dumbledore not plucked him from the rank and file of the school and begun educating him personally.

It struck him now, as it had in the past, that Dumbledore's actions those many years ago had probably saved his life, or at least saved him from a long stint in Azkaban prison. And yet as much as he was grateful to his mentor, there were times he wondered as to what his life might have been like had he not abandoned his former nature.

And that name. That name would not let him go, not entirely. And there was a strong chance it never would.

The thought of an eternity with he could have been drove him in to something near a rage. This was a part of his past that he did not want to confront. This was a part of his past that he did not want to recognize. This was a part of his past that needed to disappear.

As his fury with himself rose, he felt a certain power coursing through his veins, searching for a release. And as he felt this, the room itself began to change its configuration. The walls expanding and all furniture clearing, as if recognizing that this was magic that could not be contained, not for long. It needed a space, it needed an outlet.

But Tom Riddle refused. Refused to allow that power to control him. He was not that man anymore, not the stupid young boy with delusions of grandeur. He was a great wizard, of course, but he was not a dark lord in the making. And he never would be. He never would be.

_Voldemort. _

And the more that Tom fought it, the more that Tom refused to give in to the urge, the more powerful it grew. His head was pounding, his mind was buzzing. It was as if he could no longer think clearly, the world had grown hazy around him, the world an unrelenting form prodding and poking, unwilling to see him delivered safely from this madness. In a burst, the room was filled with unnatural born light, and Tom Riddle finally lost all semblance of control.

Somewhere below the lake, confined to his four poster bed, the young form of Harry James Potter awoke from his sleep with a start.

Up high in his tower, Professor Albus Dumbledore looked up from his papers, eyes strangely dark.

Tom Riddle laughed as fire flew from his fingers, his wand merely a distraction as his magic chased through the corridors created by the room of requirement.

And the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _shuddered_.


	8. Chapter 8

So, sorry, this is a much shorter update, but I needed to get something posted.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Russell Freeman was scared. Across the oak desk which had been his for the better part of a decade sat the most extraordinary human being he had ever laid eyes on. With the weathered wintery lines stretching from ear to ear across his forehead, with the pure white beard down to his waist, the man looked simply too old to be allowed. His choice of garments – a purple pinstriped business suit – was one of the more simple oddities about the man. But there was something, and this was the reason he was frightened, this man could do things he had never seen before. He had a staggering power that could hardly stand comprehension. In short, this man was _magic_.

"I thank you, Prime Minister, for consenting to see me on such short notice."

Freeman nodded. "Certainly."

This was his second meeting with the man, the first having occurred several years prior, as more of an introduction than anything else. From what he understood, this man in front of him was a school teacher of sorts, the principle of an educational institute. And yet he seemed to wield the same sort of influence typically reserved for the highly ranking members of the cabinet or parliament. The magical system of government, he supposed, was far different from his own.

"I'll attempt to avoid taking too much of your time, Prime Minister, but I have a matter of severe importance that I must discuss with you."

He frowned. "If this issue is so pressing, why has your minister not come personally?"

Dumbledore (for that was the old man's name) grimaced. "Alas, therein lies the problem. The minister and I are quite at odds at the moment."

Freeman reclined nervously in his chair. "And so you are here on your own?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed."

"And what is the cause of this rift?"

The old man leaned forward, his hands folded in his lap. "This is the crux of my reason, why I am here. The minister has begun and is continuing on his campaign of bigotry and persecution as we speak."

Freeman frowned. "What ever do you mean? The minister seemed quite charming and gentle upon our meeting."

At this, Dumbledore smiled, almost coldly. "This is the trademark of tyrants, as you may well know."

He whistled softly. "So, bigotry and persecution? Would you care to elaborate?"

"Lucius Malfoy, our minister of magic, has recently overseen the passage of legislation banning muggleborn wizards or witches from holding high office in the magical government and community."

The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. "Muggleborn?"

"Witches or Wizards born from parents who are not magical."

"I was unaware that that was even possible."

"Certainly. Hardly commonplace, but it is known to happen."

The Prime Minister of Great Britain stood slowly. "And you're saying that these people are now being targeted by your ministry?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Precisely."

"And you bring this to my attention. Might I ask the significance this has for me and my populace?"

Dumbledore still sat, speaking calmly as the Russell Freeman paced behind his desk. "Surely you can see that this is a small step, but a step none the less, towards persecuting against your own population? There is a belief held by some wizards that they are inherently superior to those without magic or magical heritage, and that by being superior, it is their right to subjugate or control the rest of the populace. It is unfortunate, but true, that our very own minister happens to be one of those people."

Freeman stopped. "And yet you elected him?"

"He's quite good at masking his true beliefs to fit the sway of the moment, but it is true enough that he hates muggles and the muggleborns equally and vehemently. "

Just thinking about the possibility of going to war with an army that could control their very minds made Freeman's blood run cold. "And what do you propose I do?" he asked softly.

Dumbledore rose to his feet at this. "Nothing at the moment, Mr. Freeman. I wanted to inform you so that, no matter what you hear in the coming months and years, you will remember this conversation and what I had to say. Be vigilant, Prime Minister. For yours and your people's sake."

"You think your minister will come to speak to me?"

"He will make assurances; he will try to assuage your fears over his actions, which you would be right to fear. Don't trust him."

Freeman took a bold step closer to the elderly figure. "And how do I know that I can trust you?"

Dumbledore looked at him over the brim of his gold rimmed glasses. "I can offer you no solace on that regard. All I can ask is that you follow your instincts, and trust what they tell you, both in regards to myself and Lucius Malfoy. Remember."

And with that (along with a plume of gold tinted smoke) Dumbledore was gone, leaving a very confused and very disturbed Rusell Freeman alone in his office.

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"Try it again, Harry. And softer, you need not shout your spells to achieve the maximum effect.

Harry grunted in response, and tried again. "_Expelliarmus_," he incanted, this time in a softer tone, and the spell struck home, sending Ron's wand flying from his hand. Harry looked to his Professor and was rewarded with Riddle sending him a rare smile.

"Well done, Harry. Well done." And with a nod, Riddle continued down the row of students attempting to disarm one another with little success. Harry smiled himself, retrieved Ron's wand, and tossed it to him.

Ron just shook his head. "You pick this stuff up too quickly, Harry. Makes the rest of us look bad."

Harry laughed. "Ron, you don't need my help for that."

Ron grunted, and then smiled, sending his own disarming spell wide to the right of Harry, almost hitting Lavender Brown, who gave Ron a scandalized look. Harry laughed once more. "You've got the spell, now work on the direction." Ron shrugged, and gave it another go.

As the class drew to a close, Professor Riddle stopped Harry before he could make it out of the classroom. He waved Ron and Nott on (oddly enough, the two had managed to form something of a friendship, mostly facilitated by Harry), and stayed behind to wait as Professor Riddle finished restoring the room to its original layout.

As he finished, he gestured at Harry to take the seat closest to his desk, and spoke. "Do you have another class coming up, Mister Potter?"

Harry shook his head.

"Good. Harry, as I've mentioned previously, I think you have a remarkable future ahead of you, especially within the field of defense. You've excelled so far in this class, and have mastered the spells you've been taught at a remarkable pace. Tell me, have you been studying on your own this year?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir, I've been reading on my own, and have been attempting some new spells with Nott and Draco."

Riddle stood, motioning for Harry to stand as well. "Show me." And with that, he swept the desks back to the sides of the room, forming an open space in the center of the room.

"Sir? You want me to –?"

Riddle smiled. "Harry, don't worry. I severely doubt that you could do me any true harm. So don't feel the need to hold back in either power or repertoire."

Harry shrugged, and drew his wand. "Will you be firing back?"

Riddle grinned, and sent a quick stunning spell Harry's way. Harry, rather than casting a shield, simply stepped to the side, now grinning himself. He decided to try something he had been working on outside of class.

"_Incendio!"_

The small line of fire swirled from Harry's wand towards his professor, who calmly extinguished the fire with a wave of his wand. But Harry didn't wait to see what else Riddle would do, he was already continuing with a stunning spell that spun from his wand, and Riddle, in an almost mocking tone, simply stepped to the side.

Riddle cast a quick hex towards Harry that he did not recognize. He brandished his wand and cast a _Protego_ which was barely enough to keep the spell at bay.

"Harry, Harry, never try to block a spell you don't recognize. You were fortunate that that was a low power jinx, anything stronger and your shield would have faltered. Shields are only useful when you know what is being sent towards you, or you have no other alternative method of escape."

As Riddle spoke, Harry cast three stunning spells in quick succession, each of which was deflected with ease.

"Show me more, Harry. I know you've got more hidden up your sleeve."

Harry nodded. He paused for a moment, feinted to his left and jumped forward to his right, attempting to fire on Riddle from an unexpected angle. "_Accio!_" he called, and the light hit a book over Riddle's shoulder and sent it hurtling towards the professor's unprotected back. Harry felt triumphant for a moment, but Riddle, with astonishing speed, swept around behind Harry, catching him off guard and causing the book to smash heavily into Harry's chest. Harry fell heavily to the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

Riddle helped him to his feet. "Harry, I'm impressed. A summoning charm? You have been studying."

"Yes, sir. I started the year not so successful in charms, but I was determined to change that."

"And I'm sure you have. I'm certain you are the only first year in the school capable of that particular charm. Now, have your Transfiguration scores improved any?"

Harry looked away, embarrassed. "You knew about that, sir?"

"Of course, Harry."

"I've been trying, sir. I have improved somewhat."

Riddle nodded. "There's hope for you yet, Harry, in that subject. But you must give it more of your attention. Transfiguration is a particularly demanding art."

"Yes, sir."

They both sat once more once the room resumed its natural setting, this time Riddle in a desk to the side of the one Harry took. A moment passed in pause, before Professor Riddle spoke. "Harry, how do you feel about the school's curriculum?"

"I suppose I can't complain. I've been a learning quite a bit."

"Of course, Harry. But as I've pointed out, you've far surpassed this class' expectations for the entire year."

"If you say so."

"So Harry, what I'm asking is, would you like to progress further this year? You would still have to attend this class, of course, but I believe you have a great opportunity to expand and achieve far beyond the expectations for your year."

Harry sat back, a bit stunned. "Sir, what exactly are you offering?"

Professor Riddle sat forward in the desk. "Harry. I would like to train you personally for the remainder of the year, quite possibly longer than that, if the necessity and opportunity still persists. "

"Are you sure? I mean, I don't want to take up your time, I'm sure that you're very busy –"

"Harry, I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. Are you willing? I warn you, it won't be easy, and it will be an extra burden along with your classroom academic work."

Harry nodded vigorously. "Of course! Absolutely, sir."

Tom Riddle smiled, and stood. "Then Harry, we'll talk again after your next defense class."

Harry stood as well. "Thank you so much, sir. I won't let you down."

"I'm sure you won't. And Harry, I heard that you had a conversation with the Minister himself."

Harry paused. "I did."

Riddle arched an eyebrow. "Be careful, Harry, and you'll be fine."

"Thank you, sir."

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As Lucius Malfoy sat in the arcanely decorated anteroom, he could not help but feel smugly satisfied with his work over the past month. This was his last obstacle. By rule, the Board of Governors could only remove the sitting Headmaster of Hogwarts with a two thirds vote of no confidence. Over this past month, he has been spending a significant amount of time (and money) seeing to it that the board would see Dumbledore in a negative light. There were certain factions that he knew, of course, would never turn on Dumbledore. Just as there was the faction that had always and would always be against the old man. And so he had targeted those in the middle, attempting to sway them towards his point of view by any means necessary. And by and large, he had succeeded.

There were a few failures, of course, and by now there was no chance that Dumbledore didn't know what he was up to. But that was irrelevant, there was nothing that could be done unless Dumbledore was willing to cut a few ethical boundaries, which was unlikely at the given moment. Dumbledore knew he was under too much scrutiny as it was.

And here he was, in the home of the swing voter himself, one Archibald Cunningham, an old and distinguished veteran of several wars and even more years. And as he waited for the doddering elderly gentleman to grace him with his presence, he contemplated his next move in the post-Dumbledore era of Hogwarts. Riddle would be headmaster, of course, he was a strong man who was well respected and held a certain fascination with the dark arts. Riddle was older than he, and had fought in the battle of London itself. He was a hero, the perfect candidate to replace the staunch and stagnant reign of Dumbledore.

Cunningham entered the chamber, sitting at the far end of the room from Malfoy. Lucius stood and bowed deeply. Cunningham simply grunted in reply.

"Mr. Cunningham, thank you so much for allowing me to take up some of your precious time."

The old man grumbled. "Sit down, Malfoy. No need to be on ceremony here. I'm entirely too old for that sort of thing."

Malfoy sat quickly. "Of course."

"No need to tell me why you're here, Lucius. I of course already know. Did you assume I wouldn't?"

"I'm certain that the rounds have been made at your convenience, so I'm sure you know why I am here."

"Of course I am. You want to oust Dumbledore, correct?"

Lucius only nodded.

"Well? Give me a reason."

"You've heard mine already. Dumbledore's allowed the place to grow stagnant, and we have permitted it, to our eternal shame."

"Some say that Dumbledore's the greatest Headmaster in Hogwarts' history."

"Only if they are content with the consistently dropping standards both for admittance and academics that he's presided over."

Cunningham slowly nodded. "I'll grant you that, in my day, it seems we were more… we were more prepared for the world than these children today. They leave school without a clue of what the world is truly like."

"They leave unprepared."

"I suppose you could say that."

Lucius sat forward. "I do say that, I say it with the utmost conviction. Dumbledore has been in power for decades, he was put there by Grindelwald himself. It is time for a change. The school needs it, the future of our county depends on it."

Cunningham waved a hand softly. "No need to stand on soapbox, I'm not a member of the mob. In theory, I suppose I have little problem with removing Dumbledore, you know I've never been personally fond of the man –"

Malfoy snorted internally. This lack of friendliness stemmed from their days in school together, where Dumbledore consistently outpaced the competitive but ultimately less talented Cunningham.

"– so my question is, who do you have on hand able to replace him?"

Lucius smiled at this. "I have the perfect candidate. A hero of the great war, a man who has lived his life beyond reproach, and is currently an educator at Hogwarts this very moment."

"Tom Riddle?"

Malfoy nodded. "Tom Riddle."

Cunningham smiled softly, and Malfoy glowed, the flush of victory evident on his face.

Before the next term began, Hogwarts would have a new headmaster, and Dumbledore would be removed from power.

This day couldn't get any better for Lucius Malfoy, Minister of Magic.


	9. Chapter 9

Hey all, so, sorry about this being a short update, wanted to put something out, as I haven't had as much time recently to write.

**CHAPTER NINE**

"Things aren't looking good, Albus."

"Undoubtably."

"So what are we going to do?"

Dumbledore looked up from the head of the table. "It seems inevitable now that I will be leaving Hogwarts upon the completion of the year."

Alastor Moody and Sirius Black, the other two men at the table, exchanged looks.

"So where are you going to go? What are we going to do? We can't just sit here and accept this. You know what Malfoy will do next. He'll push his radical agenda even further under the guise of restoring the wizarding world's _traditions_. We can't let him –"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Sirius, fear not. I have plans in the works, we will not be abandoning this country to the radically minded right."

Alastor spoke. "Sirius asks a valid question, Albus. Where will you go?"

At this, Dumbledore sighed. "I will be retiring to live with my brother in France, or so the public and the ministry will be led to believe."

"But you won't be leaving the country."

Dumbledore's wizened face remained passive. "Alas, for some time, I will be out of the country. Indeed, I am intending to make contact with my brother, who is living quite happily in France at the moment."

Sirius sat back. "I can hardly believe that you'd leave England. It doesn't feel right, Professor."

Moody looked at Sirius. "But I hardly believe that he'll be _retiring_."

"Quite right."

Sirius spoke up again. "So what will you be doing?"

"I've made contact with the muggle Prime Minister in this country, and I intend on making contact with the French President as well."

"The muggles? Why?"

"Lucius Malfoy has delusions of grandeur. It is my estimation that he intends to firstly rid the wizarding world of muggleborns, and from there move to rid the country of muggles entirely. The man's hatred and racist tendencies towards them has no boundaries. He is proficient enough at wielding words, and will likely be able to have the country grasping at his coattails. His reign will be marked as one of persecution and genocide on a scale rarely seen on this earth, if he has his way."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "And so you're going to France."

"Yes."

"To visit the French President."

"Yes."

Sirius paused for a moment. "Why?"

"We need outside help, Sirius. There are too few of us here who recognize the danger, we could be overrun by the sheer masses Malfoy can procure. His popularity with the average British wizard is astounding."

"But how do muggles help?"

"Are they not the ones with the most at stake? They deserve to know, they deserve to be prepared and able to defend themselves."

Moody finally spoke up. "Will you be making contact with the French ministry as well?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, although I am less hopeful on that front, they will have little reason to believe me, much less listen to any guidance I may offer. My status will have fallen markedly upon my ousting from Hogwarts."

"Anyone with half a head on their shoulders should realize that by having you removed from office, Malfoy is only showing one of his many fallacies and none of yours."

"And yet you know who the public will believe." Moody spoke.

Sirius sat back heavily in his chair. "They're always inclined towards sensationalism."

"Sirius," Moody started, "Has your boy had any success with the younger Malfoy?"

Sirius gave him a grim smile. "No need for that, seeing as how he has already met and spoken with the senior Malfoy, I'll expect he'll be receiving an invite to visit Draco at the family manor during the summer any moment now."

Moody turned to Dumbledore. "On your watch, Albus?"

"Alas, how could I prevent such a meeting? Both parties desired it."

"And why would Potter want to meet with Malfoy."

At this, Sirius spoke. "It came from conversation with the younger, according to Harry's letter. And Harry knew that Malfoy wanted to speak with him. An eleven year old asked for a meeting by the Minister of Magic? How could you say no?"

"You're supposed to protect these children, Albus." Moody said, genuinely angry.

"And I told you, Alastor, that there was nothing I could do to prevent such a meeting. This is something we will have to accept in the coming years. Harry is a celebrity, rightfully so. And as such, he will be exposed to the world in ways that other students will not be. We can merely do our best to prepare him for this inevitability."

Sirius spoke next. "And how will we do this while you're away on your trip to France? Also, do you have any instructions for those of us remaining inside the borders while you're away on your sojourn?"

At this, Dumbledore's eyes regained some of their gleam. "I'm afraid, Sirius, that you will have to be the one to protect young mister Potter. I suspect that when the inevitable invitation to the Malfoy Manor arrives, you may have to attend alongside Harry."

Sirius looked a little green at this. "You really think the Malfoy's would open their gates to the likes of me?"

"You are a Black, are you not?"

Sirius nodded an affirmative, despite not liking the way in which this discussion was headed.

"You are a highly ranking Auror as well."

He nodded once more.

"So it seems to me that Malfoy could have much to gain by getting in your good graces."

Sirius objected. "He wouldn't even try, he knows me too well. Knows my history."

Albus shook his head. "No, he wouldn't attempt anything in a vacuum. But you, Sirius, will make the first move."

"Dumbledore, no, this is crazy."

Dumbledore continued. "You will bring Harry for a visit with Draco over the summer. You will have to be cordial. I would like for you to drop a few hints at this event, bits of information that suggest that you are growing tired of my, what would I call it? Constant meddling, or something along these lines. Emphasizing your desire to reconcile with your heritage as you grow older would not go amiss as well."

Sirius shook his head once more. "This isn't my sort of work, Professor. I'm no spy."

"And yet you are the only one who is adequately placed to become so."

"He won't believe me."

"That is up to you, and your actions."

The three men grew silent. Moments passed as the candlelight flickered in the darkness, lending a somewhat surreal presence to the grim proceedings.

"It wasn't Malfoy who ordered it, by the way." Moody spoke to Sirius, once again slightly changing the topic.

"What are you talking about?"

"The murders, the families and their muggleborn children."

Sirius spoke quickly. "What do you know? We've still not been able to solve these –"

"It was the work of a fringe group, on the outer edges of wizarding society."

Sirius stood. "How is it that you know this and I don't?"

"Keswick brought in one of them, and under Veritaserum he admitted to a share of the responsibility. He isn't upper crust, but he was himself one of the assassins. I stopped in earlier this evening and found out; I assume you'll be notified in the morning." Moody spoke, reclining slightly in his wooden chair.

"Who are they?" Sirius pressed.

"As I said, they are a small, relatively new organization. They've got limited manpower, but seem in line with some of Malfoy's more hard line extremist points of view. Unfailingly conservative, they call themselves Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" Sirius mused. "Never heard of them."

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The word was spreading like wildfire through the four tables of the Great Hall. Dumbledore would be fired. He wasn't going to be returning to Hogwarts with most of them for the next year. It had first been reported only by whispers, but the Daily Prophet hadn't kept the story hidden for long. And at this particular breakfast, with the Headmaster's empty seat the center of attention, there were none who didn't hear the whispers or see the headlines.

And it was true. Dumbledore was being removed. He would remain for the rest of the year, (a little over a month) for practicalities sake, but September first would mark the beginning of a new era at Hogwarts.

As to exactly who would take over, that was still a mystery. Rumors were reported rapidly, but truthfully nobody at the school knew who was to become the new Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Harry himself was conflicted, but this was not the case with most of those at the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was beside himself, Zabini and Nott also smiling, and the older students were beside themselves. And as Dumbledore had yet to put in an appearance that morning, there was little that could be done to swell the tide of gossip that had overtaken the students of Hogwarts.

But away from the Great Hall, in the solace of a room of which none other knew, sat Tom Riddle. He was conflicted, of course. The job was his, he had been told, if he wanted it. Malfoy was pressing him to accept, but Tom could not help but feel as if, by accepting, he was somehow cementing his betrayal of Dumbledore. He was certainly anxious that the old man might see it that way. But no, Dumbledore was always, had always been understanding. That wouldn't change.

But he didn't want to speak to the man. Not at that moment. Truthfully, he didn't know how he could face him. He couldn't fully accept Malfoy's reasoning, couldn't accept that there was a good reason for ousting Dumbledore. And so there he was, unable to leave the room for fear of seeing his former mentor's anguished look.

Of course, he could not stay forever. He had arranged a training session with Harry in the next hour, and would have to emerge subsequently for his regularly scheduled classes. Harry himself was an example of a reason not to take the Headmaster's position. He enjoyed teaching. He enjoyed working with students, especially prodigious ones such as Potter. As Headmaster, he would no longer be teaching individual classes, and would have far less time to work with students like Harry.

His mind turned to the subject of one Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the boy who had defeated Grindelwald himself. It was a feat that Riddle had, at the time, been incapable of. In some ways, this actually drew his ire. How was it that a one year old child was able to do what he had not, what Dumbledore even had not? It was no surprise that Harry was a talented wizard, but as an eleven year old he certainly did not have the kind of skills required to face and defeat the greatest dark wizard of the era. How could it be, then, that Potter at age one was strong enough? What had happened that night?

Nobody really knew the answer to that question. Sirius Black was one of the first to arrive, and having realized what had gone wrong, sought out Dumbledore for protection and sanctuary. In truth, it was Pettigrew who had betrayed his friends, and with the help of Dumbledore, Pettigrew was sought out and captured on the very evening that the master he served was destroyed.

And so nobody knew how Harry had survived, left only with a scar to mark the killing curse's foul imprint upon his body. There were many theories, and of course questions as to whether or not Harry would be capable of surviving yet another killing curse. Of course, such a train of thought was fruitless, as nobody would dare attempt to test this query.

And there had been peace for an entire decade. Malfoy promised prosperity, promised the continuation of the past ten years, but Tom Riddle could read the signs. Malfoy had an agenda, and war was on the horizon. With whom, Tom could not be sure, but he had the feeling it was more imminent than any average citizen would presume. He was not against war in theory, recognizing it as the realistic inevitability of societal clashes between cultures, war was a constant of the world, and would always be as long as there were people of different race and origin, magic and muggle.

It was true that Tom Riddle himself was not overly fond of muggles. He had found them generally unintelligent and uninspiring. His father was certainly an example of this, and in many ways the man's continued existence (although he was nearing his one hundredth year on this earth, and would not last much longer, as he was a muggle) often grated at Riddle, for the man did not deserve the time he had gotten.

At the age of sixteen, Tom Riddle had attempted to kill his father and his grandparents. But when the moment came, and he found himself face to face with his family, he had not had the heart, had been too afraid of what Dumbledore would do if he found out, and this fear stayed his hand. It was not out of and love for his muggle heritage, merely his desire to not be cast out of his newfound society that kept Riddle from becoming a murderer. And Riddle had not turned back from this path, in some ways fear seemed to have driven him. He had become an auror, one of the best, and began to help uphold the laws he would have once cast aside without a second thought.

Tom stood, breaking himself from his internal monologue, and stepped from the room. He found Potter waiting in his office. Without waiting for a greeting, Riddle spoke to the boy.

"Follow me."

And without another word, Riddle swept from the office, the young Harry Potter in tow.

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Harry found himself leaving the room of requirement in a daze. Never before had he imagined that such a room could exist. And Professor Riddle had shown it to him! If what Riddle said was correct, they were the only two who knew that such a room existed, even including the headmaster. It was really quite amazing. And the training itself, well, he had had four separate sessions with his Professor, and each time he found himself more and more awed with his own magic. There was a sort of confidence bubbling up, and he was quite confident now that there was no student in his year or the year above that could top him in a duel.

He didn't go around spouting this off, as Riddle had asked for their sessions to remain quiet, but soon enough people would know what he was capable of. At times he remembered how frightened he had been, at the beginning of the year, to be sorted in to Slytherin. And yet now, it didn't seem like he had much to fear. They were all merely children, after all, very few of them could (and none of them would) do him serious damage. Riddle assured him of that much. And the professor, himself having been a Slytherin, understood the pressures of the house. Apparently Snape's rules for the house were hardly of his own creation, they had been around for at least a hundred years prior.

Harry smiled as he walked, but stopped when he suddenly found himself face to face with his soon to be fired headmaster, who had seemingly appeared as if from nowhere.

"Harry, good afternoon."

Harry smiled softly. "To you as well, sir. How may I help you?"

"I have something that I feel should be returned to you. Your father left it in my possession, and as I will be leaving the school, I feel it should remain here, in your hands."

Dumbledore handed Harry a soft and slightly wrapped package.

"I ask, Harry, that you do not open it until you are alone, and that you keep the existence of this object quiet. One wouldn't want to give up the element of surprise unless they absolutely have to."

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. "Yes sir, absolutely."

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I must say, Harry, that I have enjoyed having you as a student in this school, despite our few… differences. I feel that the coming years will treat you well, if you let them. You have potential, Harry, and I must ask that you kindly not let it go to waste."

Harry nodded once more, but could not find the correct words with which to respond.

Dumbledore continued. "These may not be easy times, Harry Potter. You will face difficulties afforded to you because of your birth, and the events of ten years past. You will face temptations from many sides. I simply ask that you do your best to keep a level head, and don't allow yourself to fall prey to what is easy. What is worth fighting for never comes simply, Harry. Know that, remember it, for I have a feeling that it will be important in the future."

And with that, Dumbledore was gone, leaving a dumbfounded Harry Potter in his wake.

Harry, once recovered, made his way back to the room of requirement, the only place he knew he would not be interrupted. He created for himself a replica of the Slytherin dorms, complete with four-poster beds and all, and sat on what would be his own in the true existing room. He examined the package, which was relatively lightweight, very flexible. Removing the paper, he found himself holding a silver-like cloak with a light sheen. For lack of something better to do, he put the cloak on over his shoulders, and immediately found himself without a body. Testing, he pulled one arm away from the cloak, and it materialized back into the visible spectrum.

"An Invisibility Cloak." He whispered almost reverently.

With a smile, he threw the cloak over his body and vanished from sight.

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How can a muggle fight a wizard?

Rephrase that question.

How can a muggle fight a wizard and win?

The relative strengths of the two seem to be polar opposites. A wizard's power is individual. A wizard's power lies in his innate magical talents alongside his drive and ability to learn and process new information, to develop his magical skill. A single wizard with a wand can be capable of great feats – and the relative levels of power can be great from one wizard to another, the disparity of power can be vast. There have been (and still are) wizards who command powers that rival the mythical gods themselves, there are wizards who have cheated death.

Muggles, then, lie in complete contrast to the wizarding world. Their strength lies not in the ability of a single man to overachieve, for the disparity in strength from muggle to muggle is far smaller than from wizard to wizard. The power of the muggle world rests instead in the collective. The teeming masses of minds and bodies. Muggle armies are known to grow larger in number than the entirety of the magical population. And the seething minds, these minds have over time reacted to their plight, their individual powerlessness, and the end result of this collection has been the advent of technology – the great equalizer. What would happen if an atomic bomb were to fall on Diagon Alley? Could one thousand wizards stand against a hundred thousand fully armed muggles?

These questions have never truly been put to the test. The most recent struggles between muggles and wizards (and yes, these battles have happened in the distant past, before the permanent separation of the two societies), the muggles were far fewer in number and armed merely with arrows.

These questions were never asked. The muggle world did not know enough to ask them, the wizarding world knew too much to bring up the topic. Could the collective might of the muggle world bring down a tyrannical magical government?

Albus Dumbledore was determined to find out.

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"What's his name?"

"Let me check – last name's Davis."

"Henry Davis?"

"Yeah, that's right. You know him?"

Sirius' face was grim. He grabbed a set of papers from the warden and steeled himself for the trek past the Dementors. He handed over his wand to the warden, as per the protocol of the place.

"You could say that. Fought against us in the war. Thought he was dead, to be honest."

"Would be better for him if he were. He's not ever leaving this place."

"And I can't imagine a better fate for him." Sirius smiled darkly.

The warden waved his wand, and the gate to the prison hallways slid open.

"Alright, Black. You've got ten minutes with him."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Why so little time?" he asked.

"For your own health, mate. You don't want to be inside any longer than that."

Sirius drew his lips into a taut line. "I can handle Dementors."

With that, Sirius stepped towards the gate. The warden gestured at him to wait, and waved his wand. A small white blue ball of light materialized and darted out in front of Sirius' path.

"Follow the light through the corridors. And don't stray from the path."

Sirius nodded, and the light began to move through the hall, setting a brisk pace. The light led Sirius down the dark and winding halls of Azkaban Prison. As he moved through the corridors the air around him seemed to grow thicker, colder. The light suddenly stopped. Sirius looked to his left and peered in to the small dimly lit room through the cell bars.

There sat Henry Davis, former lieutenant in Grindlewald's army and newly convicted Death eater – the first of what Sirius hoped would be many more to come.

"Davis." Sirius spoke, his voice echoing hollowly down the decaying walls. The man's face rose, his skin sallow, drawn tight. He had only resided in Azkaban a week. There had been no trial – veritaserum had been deemed proof enough.

"What do you want?" There was no malice in his voice, simply fatigue and depression. Sirius took a step closer to the bars.

"What are the Death Eaters, Davis?"

A soft chuckle was the only response. Sirius tried again.

"How many Death Eaters are there?"

Another soft wheezing sound, and then a response. "More then you'd think."

"Get specific, Davis. It could help you out here."

Davis shook his head. "I'm never leaving this place."

"But you like being on the center aisle? The proverbial Dementor drag? I could have you moved to a better cell, away from them. Better food."

Davis lay back from the bars. "What's the use? I'll die here anyway."

Sirius was growing more and more restless, he was running out of time for this particular interview. "What's the goal? Why do the Death Eaters exist?"

Davis shrugged. "Why not? Someone's got to take out the trash."

Sirius ignored this jab. "How long has this organization existed?"

Davis laughed. "Years, Black, and you aurors are just now catching on. You really are so slow, the lot of you. It is quite marvelous." He continued to chuckle, a mad glint in his eye. "We've had a far greater impact than you can know. We've been the first, the originators. You could call us the power behind the throne."

"What do you mean, Davis? What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

But Davis just kept laughing, and drew himself away from the bars. Sirius sighed, and turned to go, when he suddenly in the corner of his eye saw Davis slam his body against the cell bars, getting as close to him as possible.

"You've chosen the wrong road, Black. And you'll regret it. I promise you that. You'll regret your betrayal."

And the ball of light zoomed past Sirius, signifying that it was time to go. Sirius turned and wound his way back up the corridor towards the entrance and the world, shaking his head as he went.

As he reached the warden, he reflected on the conversation. How much was simply Davis raving on? How much was truth? Either way, he knew that he had to dig deeper. There was more to this Death Eater thing than appeared on the surface, and he knew he had to find out more.

Dumbledore's instructions were still problematic as well. He had no desire to befriend Malfoy, to work within his cohort. And yet he saw the value in it, saw that he was the only one properly placed. In truth, he was also worried about Harry. There communication had grown less constant as the year had progressed, Harry – the Slytherin – spending more time over the summer with the Malfoys? It was a questionable decision at best, in his mind. But what else was there to do? He didn't particularly have many options, and he had promised to follow Dumbledore's instructions.

He mindlessly retrieved his wand from the warden, and boarded the enchanted boat for the trip back from the remote isle.

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Harry's form had improved tremendously. Over the time he had been working with Riddle, he had seen in scores in almost all of his classes, not just defense, rise steadily. And now, as he stood before McGonagall, he felt entirely prepared for the end of the year exam that was to come.

With a wave of his wand, the teacup in front of him reshaped itself into a rectangular snuff box with an ornate lid, and a few flourishes of color. McGonagall looked impressed, despite herself.

"Mister Potter, I must say, you've improved dramatically since the beginning of the year. To what do you attribute this development?"

Harry shrugged innocently. "Practice?" he answered semi-truthfully. McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed. You may send in Mister Nott, if you please."

Recognizing the dismissal, Harry turned and left the room, a smile firmly plastered on his face.

Afterwards, Harry found himself out by the lake with Malfoy and Blaise, the three discussing the year and their summer plans. Malfoy was talking the most, naturally, while Harry and Blaise were content to sit and lounge on the grass, for the most part.

"I'm certain father will be inviting the both of you, along with Nott, to visit for a portion of the summer. You'll come, I hope?"

Harry thought for a moment. Over the year he had gradually grown friendlier with Draco, and while Ron wasn't happy about it, he was generally forgiving, as it had caused Malfoy to spend less time bothering him. Harry responded to Malfoy's question.

"I'm not certain my godfather would allow it. But if he does, I'll be sure to come by. Let me know when.

Malfoy shrugged. "Do your best. And you, Blaise?"

"I'll be there."

Malfoy changed the subject from there. "The exams were easy, weren't they? How'd they go for you?"

Harry smiled. "They weren't particularly difficult." Blaise nodded, and Malfoy grinned.

"Of course not, what'd you expect? If you thought they were tough, I would have been worried."

Harry smiled. There were plenty of things to worry about, plenty of problems, but that day he couldn't find a way to worry about them. Things were going too well. The three sat by the lake until sundown, when the three stood and made their way back to the castle.


	10. Chapter 10

So everyone, if you didn't notice, I updated Chapter Nine, which includes a few more sections, so if you didn't read that, do so first before you get to this chapter. Thanks for reading, review if ya feel like it.

**CHAPTER TEN**

White beards with half-moon spectacles were popping up everywhere. Through the corridors to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the end of the year fest had become something of a spectacle. The Slytherin table had been hit the hardest, with at least half of the students at the table having sprouted the trademark beard of Albus Dumbledore. Harry himself had, in the past minute, grown a beard so long that he could have tucked it in to his belt, his glasses changed to mirror those of Dumbledore himself. But the Slytherins were hardly the only ones affected. There were plenty of others interspersed throughout the other three tables that were sporting the white feathery facial hair with pride. Fred and George Weasley were, of course, the rowdiest of the lot, standing and bowing to the hall with beards curling down to their toes.

Several at the high table were smiling in response to this odd tribute, although the table itself was not without casualties. Snape (who else?) had been transformed almost into a dead ringer for the headmaster himself, and was doing his best to transfigure the kind features of the headmaster into a frightening scowl with little success. Dumbledore himself was twinkling madly, laughing along with the twins, who were hardly trying to hide the fact that they were responsible for the madness. In fact, none of the teachers aside from Snape seemed inclined to take points from the two anytime soon.

Through the steadily growing craziness erupting throughout the hall, Harry caught Dumbledore's eye. The old man nodded slightly, smiling. Harry responded by raising his glass slowly to the headmaster, before turning away to resume speaking with his house mates. Dumbledore lightly tapped his spoon to the glass in front of him, the ringing sound making itself heard throughout the hall, quieting the crowd. Dumbledore surveyed the sight of a hall full of replicas for a moment, before he spoke.

"Here we are once again, the end of another year here at Hogwarts. Congratulations are in order for Slytherin House, who are once again the winners of the house cup."

A smattering of applause could be heard, along with the shouting and stomping emanating from the Slytherin table.

"Yes, well done Slytherin." The hall quieted once more, and Dumbledore continued. "I do have one other mention I would like to make before I leave you to your delicious feast. I don't mean to trouble you with an old man's waffling, and I certainly do not mean to bring a damper to the evening's festivities. I would merely like to inform you personally that the rumors I'm certain you have all heard are in fact correct. I will not be returning to Hogwarts next year. Upon the completion of this day I will no longer be the headmaster of this school."

The hall, if possible, grew even more silent.

"I would also like to give my thanks, however, for this very interesting and amusing… tribute." Dumbledore lingered on this last word, and the school laughed, the tension broken by the Weasley twins standing and bowing once again. "I would also like to leave you with a few more words before we part ways." Dumbledore drew in a deep breath, and continued.

"In the times that are to come, each of you will be faced with difficult decisions to make. The world is hardly an easy or forgiving place. As you grow and leave the sanctuary of these halls, each of you will be faced with diverging paths. And the choices that you make may end up having a real effect upon the world at large. You will be faced with a choice between what is easy and what is right. I implore you all, continue to struggle for what is good and right in the world, for the good of yourself and your friends, for your family and for your people. Never allow yourself to be swayed merely by pretty words or clear sounding rhetoric. Know your ideals, understand your own mind, and stand by your principles. This is what I ask of each and every one of you. In times of hardship, keep these words in mind, remember who you are and that what is right may not come easy, but good is most certainly worth fighting for. Once again, I thank you all for your time and your presence at this school. It is you students who have truly made my time spent at this school worthwhile."

And with that, Dumbledore stepped from the podium for the final time. The hall remained quiet for another moment, before erupting into applause. Even Harry could not help it, he found himself applauding heavily with the crowd. Malfoy shot him a look, and Harry shrugged, continuing to clap.

Food began appearing on the plates in front of the students, but it took some time for the attention to turn from Dumbledore to the feast in front of them. The beards began to shrink from the student's faces, and even Snape, once his true face could be seen, appeared solemn, uncaring about the prank of which he had just been a part. As Harry looked, it seemed none of the staff appeared particularly pleased to see Dumbledore on his way out. The headmaster himself was clearly not departing of his own volition.

And he wondered just how hard Lucius Malfoy must have lobbied to have Dumbledore removed from the school. It was clearly a move meant to benefit Malfoy politically and ideologically, not to aid the students of Hogwarts in their education.

Of course, Harry was curious as to who would be taking over, but he had a hard time imagining that the newcomer would be able to entirely fill the large shoes left by Albus Dumbledore.

And as Tom Riddle sat at the leaving feast, he could not help but end up immersed in his thoughts. He was the man slated to take over for Dumbledore, for his mentor. He knew that he did not inspire the same sort of devotion as his mentor, the same loyalty grounded in love. In his lifetime, he had gained power and influence through awe-inspiring displays of magical prowess. People had, in his days as an auror, feared his power, had been left in awe of his abilities and deferred to his authority accordingly. But one could not simply frighten students into submission (at least not morally). He knew that he would have to swiftly put his own mark on the school, on the curriculum, so as to leave no doubt. He was not Dumbledore, he could not be Dumbledore. And so he would not try to be. He would put his mark on the school, and leave no doubt as to whom he was. That he was certainly no Dumbledore, but that he was Tom Riddle. And that meant something.

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Harry's return trip home on the Hogwarts Express was a vastly different experience than his first ride on the express. For starters, he was not sitting alone. He had, in fact, been traveling back and forth between the train car full of his fellow Slytherin housemates and the car with Ron and several of his friends.

Harry had been raised in relative social isolation. With good reason, he knew, as there were many possible dangers in the world, for him more so than most. But as a result, it had taken him more time than most to grow accustomed to sharing a room with others and being forced into almost constant social interaction. But the year had been good for Harry. He had learned, he had more than a single friend, and despite the difficulties of being pigeonholed by the Slytherin stereotypes, he had managed to distance himself from some of the nastier aspects of his house.

And as the Hogwarts express rolled into the station at Kings Cross, the slightly orange tint to the sky signaling the onset of evening, Harry found himself wishing that he did not have to spend the entire summer away from the school he had come to be so fond of. He stepped from the Hogwarts express alongside both Malfoy and Ron, a touch of nostalgia swelling already. He separated himself from the two, nodding at both individually, before spotting Sirius and making his way to his guardian across the crowded platform.

As he reached him, Sirius reached out to ruffle his hair. Harry slipped away swiftly and returned the favor, ruffling Sirius' hair roughly. His godfather smirked, and started to herd Harry off of the platform and away from the crowd.

"Come on, Harry. Let's get you home."

Harry smiled. "Glad to see you too."'

"Later, when we're off of the platform. Wouldn't want me to embarrass you by showing too much affection. You've got your bags?"

Sighing, Harry nodded. "Yes, Sirius, I've got them."

"Good. Get going."

And the two left the platform and started home towards number 12 Grimmauld Place.

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He had been trailing Black for over a month now. Since the auror's interrogation of Davis, the higher ups had expressed some… concern regarding Black's involvement in the case and the continuation of the investigation. Add to this the fact that Black was the guardian and godfather of one Harry James Potter, and it made Sirius Black into a considerable person of interest. And put a big red target on his back.

It was widely known, at least in the circles in which he traveled, that the Black residence was hidden under the Fidelius Charm cast by Dumbledore himself, and was therefore almost entirely unreachable. But it had been his job, and he had been paid handsomely, to trail black and find the general location of the house by following Black from the ministry to wherever it might be that he vanished through his impassible wards. And he was good. He wouldn't miss on a target like this. It had taken several attempts, to tell the truth, but Black was not as paranoid as he should have been, and the location had finally been discovered.

So here he sat, the silent assassin, waiting along a narrow drive on the outskirts of London. Black would be returning soon, with his surrogate son, back from his first year at Hogwarts. But, if things went according to plan, he wouldn't be returning for his second, and neither of the two would even make it to the step of their house. But Black was the priority this time. His boss had been quite clear. And the man waited silently, his wand twirling idly between his fingers.

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Sirius Black and Harry Potter stepped from the Knight Bus and on to the drive, Harry busy telling his godfather one of the many stories he had from his defense class with Riddle. Sirius was curious about the man's teaching techniques, having worked with him briefly as a colleague, but never having received any tutelage from the man. Sirius smiled, proud of what his godson had been able to accomplish in one year. His knowledge and spell casting ability was truly remarkable for his age.

And as the two stepped towards the Black property, Sirius noted a glint of refracted light reflecting from somewhere to his left. He brushed it off, despite an odd feeling that had come into the back of his mind. As they continued to walk, the sense of something being, well, _off_ grew stronger. He leaned in closely to Harry and whispered.

"Harry. When I say so, run straight to the door and get inside as quickly as possible. Don't come back outside for anything until I return. And don't say anything, harry. Just do as I say, and be prepared to run."

Harry tensed, but otherwise responded only with a barely visible nod. He also grasped his wand a little more tightly. He continued to walk, now at a slightly swifter pace, trying to retain the image of normality as to not tip off the potential danger to his awareness. And just when it seemed they would reach the property, that nothing would happen, that they would reach the door unmolested, Harry felt himself hit the ground hard, having been tackled to the ground by Sirius as a green jet passed through the space Harry had occupied mere moments prior.

"Run Harry!" Sirius shouted. And Harry did, making his way swiftly towards the door, Sirius blocking the path between the running first year student and the direction from which the spell had been fired.

"Show yourself!" Sirius called, showering the area with fire arching from his wand. But another green light shot towards Sirius from beyond the flames, materializing from what seemed like nothing. Sirius dodged to the side, unwilling to attempt to block what might have been a killing curse.

"Face me!" He cried once more, hoping to keep up a distraction so that Harry could reach the house. But he couldn't risk the chance to look and see what Harry was doing, because one false step here could end up being fatal, especially dealing with an opponent who could not be seen and was a complete unknown.

He grew silent, attempting to listen for the opponents footsteps, but he could hear none. He guessed that his opponent had silenced his own boots – a true professional. Sirius grew nervous, as there had been a lull since the assailant's last volley.

Suddenly, he felt the hairs on the back of his head rise, and trusting the instincts that had served him so well through the end of the war; he ducked and spun as another jet of light passed just overhead. As he was about to return fire, there was a volley of return fire, quite literally. He turned to see Harry, standing just outside the house, casting as best he could. And it would have actually been quite impressive, if the situation had not been so dire.

"Harry! Get inside. Now!" Sirius called out, watching with fear as a far vaster swirl of fire raged towards Harry from the wand of the unknown assailant. Harry dove aside, rolling to his feet as he hit the ground. Sirius quickly moved to his godson and took a defensive stance in front of him.

Deciding to go on the offensive so as to draw his unseen opponent away from Harry, Sirius waved his wand, casting silently, and the ground began to crack and rupture all around the area in front of him. He only had to hold out for so long, he knew, because the ministry would be able to sense this surge in magic in a muggle area and would dispatch aurors to investigate shortly. He had often been on such teams, in fact.

Harry took a knee and began firing consistent volleys of stunners and disarming hexes as Sirius scanned the area, unable to find any trace of his opponent. "Harry," he whispered "get inside. Now!"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not leaving you out here."

"You're out of your league here Harry. Go. That's not a request, that's an order. Get out of here!"

Harry swallowed, but ducked back and made a beeline for the door. But as he did, he was suddenly grabbed and tossed to the ground by an invisible force.

"Harry!" Sirius rushed forward and brandished his wand with snap, and was rewarded with the sound of an invisible body being flung up and smashed into the ground, an arm and portion of the assailants body becoming visible, no longer covered by the invisibility cloak. Sirius rushed forward, grabbing Harry. But Harry stood on his own, and smiled.

"I'm okay, Sirius."

Sirius sighed, and then spoke roughly. "Harry. Inside. Now."

Harry swallowed hard and nodded, turning and rushing towards the property, this time reaching it without harm and stepping inside the house with one last look out to ensure Sirius was safe.

In the meanwhile, Sirius strode towards the disembodied arm and leg and ripped the cloak from the body underneath. Before him on the ground was a man, probably in his early thirties, who bore absolutely no resemblance to anyone that Sirius had ever met. Snarling, Sirius grabbed the groggy man and pulled him up.

"Who are you? Why did you attack my godson?" He held his wand to the man's temple, a not so subtle threat leaking through his words.

The man stayed quiet, unresponsive, although his eyes flashed for a moment before glazing over. Sirius sighed, and tried once more.

"Who sent you here? Are you on your own? Are you a Death Eater?"

At this last question, the man smiled, before grasping his left forearm and flashing his teeth with a wide smile and a grimace of pain. Sirius, not knowing what he was up to, quickly stunned the man. But as he started to relax, there were two pops from behind him.

Turning quickly, Sirius found himself faced with two wands pointed directly at his face, held by two more men he did not recognize. Before he could speak, the man on his left snarled, incanted, and the world went dark for Sirius Black.

Harry waited anxiously for an hour to no avail. Sirius had not come inside. He stepped outside cautiously, and saw an empty yard. He looked around, but Sirius was nowhere to be found. Worried and frightened, Harry didn't really know what to do. He grabbed a sheet of paper and quickly scribbled on it and addressed it to the first person that came to his mind. Dumbledore. He attached it to the Sirius' owl and sent it on its way.

And he waited then. And waited. And waited. But for several more hours there was no response.

Suddenly, there was a banging on the door. Harry started, but remembered that, for someone to even see the door; they had to be someone who already knew it was there, so they couldn't be an enemy.

He walked to the door and opened it quickly, desperate for any sort of help. And there was Sirius.

"Sirius! You're okay. You had me seriously worried."

The man grunted. "I had to take him to the ministry. I'm sorry for not keeping you up to date, but it was essential, time was of the essence."

Harry smiled. "Of course. I'm just glad you're alright."

But as Sirius stepped closer, Harry realized that there was something different about the man in front of him. Something not entirely… familiar. Harry stepped back for a moment, trying to assess the situation. This man looked like Sirius, but for some reason didn't fully check out.

And as Harry stood there, Sirius walking the hallways appearing to be looking for something, he decided that it would be better to act and ask questions later. If it was Sirius, he would understand. If it wasn't, well, better to be on the offensive instead of caught off guard.

Slowly, trying to get the best possible angle, Harry found himself standing behind the possible imposter. Steadying his aim, he paused for a moment, and then muttered softly "_Stupefy_." The spell rocketed towards the man in the hall, who turned and quickly deflected the stunner to the side. Snarling a most un-Sirius like snarl, he sent a barrage of three quick stunners in return Harry's way.

Harry, with no place to run, had no choice but to cast his shield, merely hoping it would hold. The spells struck the shield with the sound of a shot, and Harry was driven back several feet, but the shield held. With a gasp, Harry dropped the shield and dove forward on to the ground, shouting, and a burst of fire spouted from his wand. The man dispelled the fire with a flick and strode towards Harry, batting aside whatever Harry sent towards him.

The man reached Harry and kicked aside his wand. He pulled him up, and with the glint of a smiling snarl, rendered Harry unconscious with a simple wave of his wand.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

If he didn't know better, Harry would think that he wasn't being kept prisoner at all. Rather, as he sat on the lush oversized armchair in a room full of comforts and amenities, it seemed as if he were being treated as a guest of honor. But the armed guards outside his door said otherwise. This was a cell. A nice one, certainly, but a cell nonetheless.

He assumed that these men had also captured Sirius. How else could they have known the location of the manor? The only way would be if Sirius divulged the location. And that fact alone caused a shiver to run through his bones. Sirius was an auror, taught to withstand torture. What had been done to him to cause him to reveal the secret? He would never do it of his own volition. Something must have happened.

And he had been unable to fend for himself. He could only hope that his owl had been received, that even now there were people looking for him, looking for Sirius. He had no wand; there was no way that he could mount an escape on his own. And anyway, he couldn't leave Sirius. He'd have to find him before anything else could happen.

But there was nothing he could do. That was abundantly clear. No windows, one door – locked and guarded, and no other signs of weakness. The room itself was beautiful, but contained absolutely nothing for him to do. And so all he could do was continue to wait. And so he did.

He waited for several hours, it seemed, although there was no way for Harry to verify the amount of time that had passed. The lighting in the room did not shift, and so he could not tell whether or not it was day or night. He tried to sleep, but his mind was racing. He knew he was in trouble. The nature of it, though, was alien to him.

Finally, there was the squeaking of hinges and the door swung slowly open. Revealed in the doorframe was a woman. She was taller, seemingly middle aged although still quite beautiful, with long platinum hair. As she stood, an elegant grace seemed to radiate from her body, this woman was clearly confident and in control of the situation.

She strode into the room, with soft steps, and quickly sat in a delicate armchair across from Harry's position. She crossed her legs and looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry himself was baffled; with no idea what it was she was waiting for. So he decided not to speak at all. He would let her make the first move.

But she was also willing to wait, apparently, and several minutes passed in complete silence, Harry stubbornly unwilling to speak first. Finally, with a sigh, the woman shook her head and stood. She stepped towards Harry and reached for him, brushing his hair from his face, her long fingers trailing his scar as they went.

Harry recoiled slightly at her touch, but was determined not to let the woman get to him. She smiled softly at this, and kissed him directly on his scar before standing straight and sweeping elegantly from the room, the door shutting with a slam in her wake.

Harry reclined back in the chair, completely unable to comprehend or understand what had just happened. Had he failed a test? Had he passed? Was it a test at all? There was a significant possibility that they were simply messing with his mind. To what end, he did not know. He had no information that could do anyone any good, he was only eleven!

He sat there still for many more hours, completely without food, there was a single glass that had appeared which would occasionally refill itself with what seemed like water, but was somehow heavier. Desperately thirsty, he had no choice but to give in and drink what he had been provided with.

And he grew groggy and tired, he tried to sleep, but to no avail. His mind simply wouldn't let him. He was too on his guard, not able to relax into sleep. It was starting to drive him up the wall. Hell, he wanted to sleep! But he couldn't.

And, after those several hours, Harry once again heard the squeaking hinges of the door swinging open, this time to reveal a burly looking man with a long black beard and wild looking eyes. He carried with him two wands, one of which Harry recognized as his own. And striding forward with purposeful steps, the man grabbed Harry roughly and pulled him to his feet.

"Come with me." He spoke harshly, and pulled Harry towards the door.

Harry spoke without thinking. "Where are we going?"

He was rewarding with a cuff on the head. "No questions. Just come with me."

Harry was led down a winding labyrinth of hallways, all of which were painted the same off-white color, nothing like the room he had just inhabited. He walked, wand held to his back, for what felt like fifteen minutes before they reached a blank and nondescript wooden door. The man opened the door and pulled Harry through.

Harry couldn't see very much, the room was filled with an odd haze. Situated in the center of the room, cuffed to a chair, head lolling groggily, was Sirius. Harry tried to move towards him, but he was held off by the bearded man, who forced him into a chair directly opposite where Sirius was placed. Cuffs wrapped around his arms and legs as well.

The bearded man proceeded to prod Sirius with his wand, waking him from his stupor.

"Black." He spoke. "We have your godson."

Sirius' eyes opened wide, looking more conscious than they had previously.

"Harry" he croaked, his voice raspy. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry nodded. "Sirius, I'm fine. What have they done to you?"

Sirius could only lower his head. "I'm sorry Harry, I'm so sorry."

The bearded man stepped between the two of them. "That's enough now." He spoke. "Now, Black, as you can see, we have your godson right here."

"What do you want with him?"

"Nothing specifically. He's only of minimal importance at the moment. What we need, Black, is information you posses."

Sirius growled. "Just drug me again, you piece of shit. Don't drag Harry into this."

"Oh we would, Black, but you've quite quickly developed a resistance to it, and we're not positive it would work to the best possible extent without you having some other… motivation."

Sirius physically pulled at his restraints, but they would not budge. "I don't know anything more. I'm not even assigned to the case. I can't tell you what they know, what we know."

The man with the beard shook his head. "I'm not inclined to believe you, Black. Truly, I'm not. Why don't I give you a little more incentive?"

The man withdrew Harry's wand once again. And with a dark smile, he snapped it in two. Harry gasped, and Sirius bared his teeth with the promise of bodily harm evident on his face.

"The next time, Black, that will be his neck. I'm serious here. Don't toy with me."

Sirius spoke haltingly. "Funny… I thought I was the only Sirius here. Seems I've met another."

The black bearded man slapped Harry across the face. "You want to make jokes, Black? You'll find that you really aren't as funny as you think."

Sirius shut his mouth at this, silently seething. Harry was speechless himself. His wand. That was his wand, and now… it was gone. He had no idea what he was going to do, if he managed to get out of this alive.

"Tell me now, Black. What do you know about us? What have you found out?"

Sirius shook his head, and the bearded man leveled his wand directly at Harry's temple.

"You really don't want to test me on this." And with a bang, Harry toppled to the ground, still cuffed to the chair.

Sirius shouted, but Harry was still moving, signaling that he was at least not dead or unconscious. Sirius finally spoke. "I'll tell you what I know; I'll tell you what I can." And the bearded man smiled in triumph.

But at that moment, the door that Harry had come through burst apart, several aurors storming the room. The bearded man jumped in to action, diving to the ground and sending whips of flame towards the aurors before rolling to his feet in a defensive position. The aurors scattered, dodging the flames and attempting the flank the man.

The bearded man, realizing that he was likely outclassed and clearly outnumbered, did the one thing he could before being captured. It had been the contingency plan, after all. If he was going to be captured or killed, he had one task to carry out first.

He turned towards Sirius and with a slice of his wand sent a jet of purple light streaking towards Black's temple. One of the aurors, seeing this course of action, cast a shield in front of the cuffed Sirius, but the shield could not hold, and the spell shattered through it, the direction only slightly altered, and struck Sirius across the chest, a shower of blood spraying from the wound.

Harry cried out, still stuck in the chair. He watched with morbid fascination as the third auror sent a strong cutting curse towards the bearded man, who being distracted by the other two aurors, was too slow to respond, the curse neatly separating the man's head from his shoulders. The two other aurors immediately went to Sirius, removing him from the chair and, using a portkey, transported him quickly away. The third stepped towards Harry. As he removed the chains holding Harry, he spoke softly. He was a sandy haired man who looked far younger than Sirius.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you at all?"

Harry shook his head softly. "Not really. I'm alright."

"Good. Now, wait for a moment, and I'll bring you to headquarters." He turned and went to the now lifeless body of the bearded man. He searched it momentarily, pocketing the man's wand and another item that Harry could not identify from where he was seated. The auror stood, and stepped towards Harry.

"Okay, now hold this." He spoke, thrusting a small thin chain in Harry's direction. Harry touched it, and the auror spoke softly. "_Portus_." And the two were whisked away to the relative safety of the ministry and auror headquarters.

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It was chaos. As Harry and his auror appeared in the midst of the law enforcement department, it was completely impossible for either of them to catch their immediate bearings. Another auror, this one older, approached the two of them along with a mediwitch who immediately went about verifying that Harry was ok.

"Good. You've got Potter. I'll take him from here. Go fill out your report and get in touch with Moody. He'll debrief you and handle things from there."

The younger auror nodded and hurried away as the mediwitch nodded, signaling that Harry was in fact quite alright physically. The elder man took Harry by the shoulders and silently steered him down the hallways. Harry felt numb, but couldn't help himself from asking questions. "Is Sirius okay? What did they want us for? How did you find us?"

The man sighed, responding softly while continuing to lead Harry towards an unknown destination. "It was Dumbledore. He's the one who made it possible. He went to Davis, the only known death eater in custody. He found from him their hideaway, well, more than one; we sent teams to all of them in an attempt to rescue you. Fortunately, one of the teams hit the right place, and here you are."

Harry nodded slowly. "And my Godfather?"

Another heavy sigh. "Black will likely survive. That's all I know at the moment. You'll be taken to see him as soon as he's able to handle it."

Harry's shoulders slumped, but he couldn't see what use arguing would be. "So where are you taking me now?" he asked softly.

For the moment, we're taking you to the auror dormitories. You'll stay there until we figure out where to take you. Your home is out of the question, as the location has clearly been compromised. At some point we may need to interview you, depending on how much Sirius can tell us.

"And where will I go after?"

"We don't know yet, Harry. I'm sorry to say, but something will be worked out shortly. For the meantime, you will be… chaperoned, for lack of a better word, by two of our auror trainees."

Harry tried to muster up as much indignation as possible, saying "I'm hardly a child." But his heart wasn't in it. He was too numb from the encounter to really care.

"Be that as it may, Mister Potter, we can't leave you to your own devices here. Trainees Fawcett and Tonks will be your guardians for the short term."

Harry nodded slightly once more, and allowed himself to be brought into a room that was something like a cross between a locker room and a bedroom, with a row of cots mirroring a row of lockers on the other side. It was a bare room, for the most part, excepting the two (he presumed) auror trainees who were sitting on two of the cots, lightly bickering between one another.

"And I'm telling you, ass face, I'm hardly a babysitter. "

"Tonks," Came the reprimand from her superior officer, "Fawcett as well. This is Harry Potter. You two are to make sure he doesn't get in to any trouble."

Fawcett, a youngish looking brown haired man with bright eyes and a hint of sunburn, nodded. Tonks, on the other hand, with her bright blue hair and startlingly purple eyes, looked fit to burst. But she also nodded, before turning away slightly.

"Alright, Harry," The older auror spoke, "You stay here, and we'll come for you when we need you or when your godfather wakes up. Whichever comes first."

Harry inclined his head, and with one last sigh the older man left the three of them to their own devices.

He turned to the two would-be aurors. He was pretty sure he didn't have anything in common with them, and so he didn't quite know what to say. So he said, in startlingly Gryffindorish fashion, the first thing that came to his mind.

"Why are you so angry?" He directed towards the one called Tonks. She looked at him balefully for a moment, before snorting and turning away from him. Fawcett was apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he shrugged, "she's been like this all day. Ever since they wouldn't let the two of us go with any of the teams."

"That's hardly my fault."

"True," he conceded, "but think about it. We were left out of the action and now our main responsibility is to watch after an eleven year old kid fresh out of his first year at Hogwarts. I mean, you can probably take care of yourself, but here you are anyway. It makes sense to be a little upset."

Harry himself shrugged. "Maybe so, but not at me."

Fawcett had no real response to this, and a veil of silence fell between the three of them. In that moment, it finally began to weigh on Harry, the enormity of what had just happened. Sirius. Was he okay? The words of the senior auror were only somewhat reassuring. They thought Sirius would survive. But if he didn't? He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without the man.

He had to face the truth. For all his excellence in school, in defense, he had been powerless to stop the inevitable tide that led him to where he was at the moment. He couldn't fight successfully against men with experience like that. For as much as he had done well in his class, it had meant nothing in the real world. The weight of this realization hit him like a stone. He was weak. He was too weak to save himself.

And that was unacceptable. He couldn't be weak. Not in a world where he was such a target. For his actions as a one year old, he would likely be sought by factions from across the country, each with different purposes, but each of which would like to use him or get rid of him for one reason or another. Certainly those followers of Grindelwald who had never been put behind bars.

It could be that it was those types who were responsible for what had just happened. He had no idea who they were, his kidnappers. The bearded man, now deceased, and the blond woman. He didn't know what had happened to her, if she had been caught, killed, where she was at the moment. She had kissed him. His scar. What did it mean?

There were too many mysteries. Too many questions he couldn't answer. And he wouldn't know anything, because he was stuck here. Stuck with these two trainees who really for the life of them did not want to be there.

And as he thought, he also realized just how exhausted he was. He hadn't slept while captive, and that meant he had likely gone more than twenty four hours since he had last slept, his last night at Hogwarts. He lay on his back on one of the unoccupied cots and let himself fall into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

Harry awoke several hours later, alone in the room except for the sleeping form of the trainee Tonks on the cot next to him. He stood groggily, but decided that he really didn't want to just be sitting around waiting for who knows how long while the adults continued to treat him like a helpless child. And so he walked to the door, careful not to wake the sleeping woman, and slipped out of the room.

He found himself back in the hallways, with a few doors to his left and right, but no real idea of where he was going. He needed to find Sirius, that he knew. Or at least find out what was going on, why he had been attacked, who had attacked him. He wanted answers and he felt he deserved them.

And so thinking, Harry started up the hall, looking for a signpost or a directional arrow or something that would help him on his way. He had never spent any time at the ministry in the past, despite Sirius working there, and so he was mostly guessing. But as he was walking, he saw in front of him the sun-burnt form of the trainee Fawcett walking in his direction from the opposite side of the hallway.

Knowing he was caught, Harry sighed as Fawcett reached him.

"Potter," he spoke softly, "where do you think you're going?"

Harry spoke softly as well. "I've got to find my godfather. I've got to see him."

Fawcett looked concerned. "What did you do to Tonks?"

Harry scoffed. "I didn't do anything to her. When I woke up, she was asleep. So I left."

"Harry, I've got to take you back…"

Harry interrupted quickly. "Look. How would you feel if a member of your family was seriously injured while you were there and nobody would tell you how he was doing or why it happened in the first place? I've got to know. Take me to see him."

The young man's face was clearly conflicted. "I'm sorry, I understand entirely. But I can't take you anywhere. I'm not authorized to."

"So you won't help me?" Harry asked very softly, looking to play on the young trainee's heartstrings just a little bit.

Fawcett sighed heavily. "Fuck it. You know what, I'll take you to the infirm. We'll see there if they'll actually let you see or talk to him. I know he's alive, Potter, so that's something at least."

Harry nodded, and the two walked in the direction Fawcett had just been coming from. As they walked, Harry looked around the ministry that ran the entirety of the country. It seemed frazzled, to say the least. The farther down the hall they went, the more people could be seen scurrying from room to room, the more there was a continuous buzz of voices coming from almost every direction.

"So what happened?" Harry asked as they walked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, who was it? Who took us? Just, you know, the whole general story. What the hell happened?"

Fawcett took a deep breath. "I'm not sure that I'm the one to be telling you any of this, Harry. I'm in enough trouble as it is for even taking you to see your godfather."

Harry shook his head. "You shouldn't be."

"I know, and I agree. That's why I'm taking you. But don't ask me to tell you things I can't. It will all get sorted out with time."

Harry fumed. "It shouldn't have to be that way."

"And it likely won't be, when you're older. For now, they view you as an eleven year old –"

"Almost twelve."

"Almost twelve year old who can't handle things that adults can."

As they reached a door marked INFIRMIRY, Harry's hands were balled up into fists. "But I can handle these things. Hell, I was there! I saw a man get killed today. How many other kids can say that?"

Fawcett nodded. "Harry, preaching to the choir and all that. Here's the infirmiry. Go in, tell them you're there to see Sirius. I've got to get back to work now, I'm late enough as it is."

Harry shook his hand. "Thanks a lot. I really do appreciate it."

"Go now." Fawcett said, opening the door for Harry. Harry nodded once more and walked in.

Inside, he found himself in a room that was sterile in every sense of the word. The walls were tope, which he heard was very soothing, but couldn't help but cast an image of unearthly cleanliness to the surroundings. He walked to the desk situated to the side, where a young girl, maybe seventeen, was working. Harry actually recognized her face from school, but he did not know her name. He walked up to her.

"Hello, I'm here to see Sirius Black."

"Name?" she asked, not looking up from the papers in front of her.

"Harry Potter." He said shortly.

She looked up quickly at his response, her eyes flickering to his scar and back to his face. "Yeah, ok. Umm, one moment." She grabbed at some other papers on her desk. "I'm not entirely sure you're supposed to be here."

"I'm not."

"Oh."

"But I'm here just the same. I've got to see my godfather. I've got to be sure he's okay."

She stood sharply. "Alright, Harry. Just have a seat over there. I'll go find out whether it's ok. Be back in a moment."

And with that, the pretty brunette stood and walked back up the sterile hallway, leaving Harry to sit behind, to wait.

And so he waited.


	12. Chapter 12

Another update. The usual disclaimer. Read and review!

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Sirius was alive. That was about all that could be said for him. His injuries were considerable, severe. The concussive spell that struck him had ruptured several of his internal organs and caused considerable damage to his ribcage. If it hadn't been for the hastily erected shield cast by one of the aurors, Sirius would never have survived the strike. As it was, he was still unconscious.

Harry had been brought to see him once, to verify that his godfather was indeed alive, but several days had passed since them with little change to his guardian's condition. And Harry had spent those days still at the compound, but he knew that there was an increasingly urgent drive to find a place for him to relocate in the short term before the fall term began.

They couldn't take him back to Grimmauld Place; that he understood. The location had been compromised, and while the house had a considerable defensive structure in place, there was always the possibility that the place had been cleaned out and that traps had been laid contingent upon their return to the house. The Weasleys were an option at first, but there was concern as to security there, and Harry himself had little desire to put his friends at risk if he was indeed a target.

And so the discussion became about whether or not to simply move him back to Hogwarts sooner than normal. He would certainly (he hoped) be allowed to leave at times to visit Diagon Alley or the Weasleys, but he would maintain residence in the castle, at least until Sirius was well.

Harry would admit quite willingly that he was partial to this course of action, as a few months in Hogwarts with an almost free run of the castle and library seemed like a decent enough way to spend the summer. But the reason that this idea hadn't already been decided upon was that with the transition that Hogwarts was undergoing, from old headmaster to new, it was unknown whether or not the new headmaster would approve. In fact, very few people even knew who had been tabbed for that position.

His two minders were still the same. Fawcett seemed to Harry to be decent enough, but Tonks was another matter entirely. She seemed to hold Harry personally responsible for the inconvenience and for the fact that she had to spend several hours of the day minding him as opposed to doing whatever it was that she wanted to be doing instead. She certainly never told Harry what that might have been.

On the upside, Harry did have the opportunity to practice his dueling abilities with Fawcett, who was more than willing to teach Harry a few new tricks. He had been given a wand that had been lying around, Harry didn't honestly know where it came from, but it wasn't at all a perfect suit for him. It still worked, and better than the few other's he'd been given to try, but it was far from his old wand. And of course, regardless of the wand, Harry's ability was nowhere near the auror trainee, but as the days past, Harry found himself picking up Fawcett's tendencies, understanding the way in which the trainee moved and responded to different sorts of attacks or offensive strategies. And on the seventh day after the incident and Harry's subsequent relocation to the auror headquarters, Harry had what seemed like a breakthrough.

Fawcett and Harry had been dueling in one of the many training rooms scattered throughout the building. As per usual, Harry had been routinely beaten back and stunned several times over the course of the session. What wasn't entirely typical, however, was the fact that it had begun to take Fawcett several moments longer each time to disarm Harry and/or render him senseless. Harry had gotten somewhat accustomed to the new wand, to the way it responded to his magic. It felt, in some ways, a little blocked, a little like trying to squeeze himself through a straw, but he'd still managed to find a way to get it to respond as naturally as he could manage.

As the session progressed, Harry noticed a tendency for Fawcett to leave his weak side open when sidestepping or dodging an attack. His shields were far too strong for any of Harry's spells to overcome, and he had to work in an attack that would force Fawcett to dodge and not cast a shield. That would require mobility. At times Fawcett also seemed to fall into a pattern, casting twice before defending, alternately switching between being offensively minded and defensively minded.

Harry started this round with a stunner aimed slightly to his left, knowing that Fawcett would see the trajectory and not attempt to move out of the way. Fawcett had been hanging back, allowing Harry to make the first move, and so he followed up his intentionally errant stunner with a disarming hex cast slightly to the right, with the intent of keeping Fawcett penned in one spot.

Fawcett obliged, ducking low and turning sideways to reduce the target presented to Harry before sending concurrent stunners in return. Harry effortlessly sidestepped the streaming spells and moved quickly to the side, casting the most damaging spell he knew, a bludgeoning hex, at the ground surrounding the auror trainee.

Fawcett producing a shimmering blue shield which protected him from the physical debris showering the area. But this defensive stance provided Harry with a chance to keep moving and to keep changing the landscape of the duel. He continued firing to both sides of Fawcett, still reining him in to a small physical space, but Fawcett just stayed in his defensive posture, his shields absorbing anything Harry threw his way.

As the duel progressed, Harry felt himself tiring, his body reacting to the several bouts they had fought prior to this one as well as the strain of casting so many spells in succession. Sensing this, Fawcett dropped his shield and moved on the offensive, sending jets of concussive energy Harry's way in rapid succession. Harry did not even try to shield himself from these spells; he fell to the ground under them and attempted to send a stunner from his prone position on the ground. But before he could get the spell off he was forced to roll away from a jet of fire that scorched the floor directly where Harry had just been stationed. Harry, correctly guessing that Fawcett would now return to the defensive rather than go for the victory, jumped to his feet and cast his own shield, attempting to create a stalemate situation.

A moment passed with neither attempting an offensive spell before Fawcett sent a simple stunner to test Harry's shield. The spell made contact and dissipated quickly, Harry's shield standing strong. Fawcett nodded at this, and took his time measuring for an attack on Harry's shield that would break it without also breaking Harry. Taking advantage of this moment, the boy dropped his shield suddenly and rushed towards the auror trainee at a dead sprint. Fawcett, slightly caught off guard, took a step back and fired a stunner towards his torso. Harry dove under the spell and rolled to his feet in an aggressive position, firing a disarming hex towards the trainee who dodged, spinning to his left. Harry had projected this, having seen Fawcett carry out the same technique several times over the course of their duels, and sent a stunner to the exact position he expected Fawcett to end up in. The man had successfully eluded Harry's first hex only to find himself caught in the chest by Harry's stunner as he turned back to face the boy. He hit the ground and Harry flushed with victory.

He revived the man and Fawcett stood groggily.

"Good one, Harry." He spoke. "I didn't see that one coming. You're coming along exceptionally well for your age."

Harry smiled and nodded. "These past days have been great for me. I'm able to read what's going on in front of me so much better now than before."

Fawcett smiled. "Now Harry, you're doing well, that's certainly beyond argument. But I've been taking it easy on you."

Harry smirked. "Trying to save face? Stunned by an eleven year old?"

Fawcett grinned in return. "Would you like to try me?"

Harry laughed. "Sure, why not. Let's give it another go."

The two stepped back the ten paces required according to tradition, and turned to face one another.

"You ready for this, Potter?"

Harry nodded slightly, his wand at the ready.

"Then we begin." Fawcett bowed slightly and then, with a complicated wave of his wand sent a bright blue curse towards Harry, one he didn't recognize. Having taken Sirius' words to heart, Harry dove out of the trajectory of the curse, which left a significant mark on the wall behind where Harry had been standing. Harry raised his eyebrows.

Fawcett laughed. "I told you I wouldn't hold back." He then proceeded to cast spells at a rate Harry had rarely seen, forcing him to dodge around the room, giving him no opportunity to return fire. Fawcett then waved his wand, creating two walls of fire to Harry's left and right, essentially cutting off his ability to run. Harry stood his ground and finally got off bludgeoning hex. Fawcett batted away the spell with a flick of his wand and redirected it back in Harry's direction. He ducked under the spell only to find himself caught with a stunner that had been cast right behind the redirected spell.

Fawcett revived him, grinning widely. "Nice try, Harry. But I think you've got a ways to go."

Harry just nodded meekly.

The two left the room, Harry sweating far more than the brown haired man to his left. As they returned to the room with cots and lockers, they could see Tonks waiting with her arms crossed.

"Potter," she spoke sharply. "You've got a letter." She handed Harry an envelope and walked off, gesturing for Fawcett to follow along with her. He shrugged at Harry and went off with Tonks down the hall.

Harry retreated to one of the cots and sat back, deftly removing the parchment inside from the envelope outside. It was from Dumbledore himself.

_Harry,_

_I'm glad to hear that you made it through your ordeal relatively unscathed. I am glad that you thought of me as a person to contact, as we were able to discern quickly what had occurred once I received your owl. I also offer my condolences, I am very sorry to hear about your godfather and with him a speedy recovery. Harry, I am writing to you because I would like to offer you my dwelling as a place for you to stay until the fall term starts up again or Sirius becomes well. If you are willing to consider this offer, please respond to this letter, if not no response is required. Again, Harry, I'm glad to hear that you are okay, and I sincerely hope that this letter finds you well and in good spirits. _

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry looked at the letter in surprise. He had a great amount of respect for the man, but the two had had some significant difficulties in the past as well. It seemed slightly out of character for Dumbledore to extend him this offer, but regardless he had to consider it. Living with Dumbledore… could be some perks to that. He wondered what Sirius would suggest, but he obviously couldn't weigh in on the subject at that particular moment. This thought couldn't help but cause him distress. He was told that Sirius would be okay, but he couldn't really trust them, he doubted they even knew for sure when Sirius would next be awake.

But his mind was made up. He'd take Dumbledore up on his offer, for a summer with Albus Dumbledore could only be intriguing.

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Lucius Malfoy was incensed. This was not exactly the way he had intended for the aftermath to play out. First of all, this was never supposed to be a public incident. His spotter had acted too soon, acted out of turn. Of course the man had been… removed… from his position, but the damage was already done. The public had gotten wind of the attack on a popular auror and his even more popular godson. The intent had been for Black to simply disappear, but that possibility had gone out the window. The public outcry couldn't bode well for him; it gave his opponents room to suggest that he wasn't adequately protecting the public. It was, in particular, the capture of Potter that had him angry. He had been struggling with several of the other factions in the party, and he had believed that the decision had been made to follow his advice in regards to the middle ground. But no. They had gone another route, and it made him furious. Potter was not to be touched! He was too important. And additionally, in a surprise to him and everyone else, Potter had turned out to be a Slytherin. There was a chance that the child of prophecy (that damned prophecy. It was hardly common knowledge, but there were too many factions that knew of its existence) could end up supporting them in their cause. There was no reason, according to the prophecy, that he couldn't. It didn't resign him to being a pawn of the light, after all.

But those chances go downhill with each time he encounters pain at the hands of those whom he would have to support. And so he had to do something. He needed to truly secure the boy's trust. When he had spoken to him, the boy seemed somewhat trusting and cautiously optimistic. He could only hope that was still the case, that the boy still viewed him in that light.

The boy's living situation presented an opportunity. Who could object to the Boy-Who-Lived spending his summer with the family of one of the most popular ministers of the past century?

Draco and Potter had become friendly in his son's estimation, and so it shouldn't be too difficult for the Potter boy to assimilate quickly into the lifestyle to which his family was accustomed. It was a perfect solution.

He slapped the Prophet from several days prior on the desk in front of him and floo'd to the auror department, intent on locating the boy and bringing him to the prestigious Malfoy Manor.

There he found Harry in the company of one of the auror trainees; he didn't know the young man's name. But the trainee, seeing his Minister walking casually, bowed slightly with evident respect. Harry looked up at this, having not noticed the minister previously. A light frown flitted across his face before it slipped back into a mask of relative neutrality.

Malfoy himself frowned internally at this. It wasn't a good sign that the boy was somewhat upset with his presence. He spoke cordially, masking any sense of frustration that might have otherwise been present.

"Mister Fawcett, Mister Potter, good to see you both."

Harry nodded, with Fawcett responding enthusiastically. "It's an honor to meet you sir."

Lucius smiled graciously. "I was hoping I might get a chance to speak to you, Harry, but I'm afraid it will have to wait a few moments longer." He turned to speak directly to Fawcett. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would help me to find and speak with your superior. I'm positive that Harry can survive being on his own for a few moments while we seek him out. After all, word around the ministry is that Harry is impressively capable with his wand. I don't think you have to worry."

Fawcett agreed. "Of course sir. I'll take you now. Harry, I'll catch you later?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure."

"All right then. Follow me, if you will Minister."

And the two swept down the hallway and out of sight. As the two walked, Lucius probed the man about his time spent with Potter. Fawcett was only too happy to oblige, raving about the child's maturity and talents with a wand. The young trainee was clearly impressed with the boy in just about every way. And it seemed that Potter enjoyed the man's company and companionship as well. This gave him an idea. He took Fawcett by the arm and stopped him, making sure that the conversation would take place outside of earshot of the others in the auror department.

"Fawcett, would you mind telling me your first name?"

He nodded. "David, sir."

Lucius smiled lightly. "David Fawcett. You seem to be a promising young man of talent, a good head on your shoulders."

"Thank you sir."

Malfoy continued. "How would you say you perform with a wand?"

Fawcett paused. "I… I would say I perform well, sir."

Malfoy grinned at this. "Now now, no need to be modest son. Tell me the truth, how do you feel you stack up when compared to the established aurors and your fellow trainee?"

"Honestly, sir? Tonks hasn't bested me once in a duel. My grades out of Hogwarts barely qualified me for the program, but I was accepted because I can outduel all but the senior aurors."

Malfoy's smile grew wider at this. "Perfect! I'm telling you this now in confidence, for the moment, but I would like to secure your services for my private detail as soon as you complete your training and are sworn in as a qualified regular. I could use a fine upstanding young man such as you."

Fawcett's eyes grew wide. "Sir, thank you so much. I promise you won't regret this decision."

Lucius chuckled lightly. "I'm certain that I won't."

The two continued down the hall, coming across by fortuitous chance the man Lucius had been intending to see in the first place.

"Auror Scrimgeour." Malfoy spoke warmly, extending his hand. The senior auror took it heartily. "Minister Malfoy, so good to see you again. Might I enquire as to the nature of your visit? Not that I don't welcome your presence here at all times."

Malfoy smiled and nodded at Fawcett, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The trainee turned, after nodding in return, and went back the way he came to find his young charge.

"Rufus, I've heard that there's been some difficulty in finding a place for young mister Potter to stay for the remainder of the summer."

Scrimgeour nodded. "Indeed. We're running low on viable options at the moment. Although there has been a recent addition to the list, one that Harry himself seems particularly set on."

Malfoy frowned. "Oh? And who is this mysterious benefactor."

Rufus grimaced. "Albus Dumbledore."

Lucius' frown grew darker at this. He spoke sharply. "Absolutely not. I will not allow it."

The senior auror raised his hand palm upwards as if to surrender. "This isn't my idea, Lucius. And I wouldn't go along with it if we had any better option. But at the moment, we don't. If you have a suggestion…"

Malfoy paused. "Indeed I do. The boy, Potter, will spend the summer with me and my family at Malfoy Manor."

Rufus cocked his head to the side. "Are you certain, Minister? It could provide something of an inconvenience."

"Nonsense. Malfoy Manor is a far more appropriate setting for a boy of Harry's age. Besides, he's a classmate of my son Draco; it will be a far more comfortable summer for Harry if he spends it with a friend his own age. He will be well taken care of until his godfather has recovered adequately."

Rufus shrugged. "If you insist, so be it. I suppose I'm inclined to agree with you in any case."

"Good. I must be going now, but I'll have Narcissa come as soon as possible to collect the boy."

Rufus nodded and Malfoy strode from the room, a wide grin plastered on his face.

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Harry was frustrated. It wasn't that he had any particular dislike for the Malfoy's per se, but he had been very much looking forward to spending time with the legendary former headmaster. But now he found himself situated in one of the Malfoy's many guest rooms. It wasn't as if he had any way to complain. The room itself was lavish beyond belief, and he had every comfort attended to by the family's house elves. The food was delicious, and his time had been well occupied with Quidditch (which he was far better at than Draco, to the other boy's chagrin) and a vast library in which he was allowed free reign.

The only element of concern lay in the form of Draco's mother, Narcissa. The blond woman bore a striking resemblance to the woman he had encountered during his imprisonment. He didn't believe her to be the same woman, but there was such a strong similarity between the two, he could not help but wonder. But of course, he could not simply enquire as to this resemblance, he didn't dare ask the question outright. And so he buried the query and tried not to think about it, despite the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that arose within him every time he say the woman.

He was broken from this musing by a pounding at the door. He opened it to find Draco standing in front of him, two shiny new brooms in his hand.

"You, me, Quidditch. Now."

Harry smiled and nodded, taking one of the brooms from Malfoy and inspecting it as they made their way to the pitch on the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

"It's a Nimbus 2001." Draco told him. "The newest model on the market. Father purchased one for each of us."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Malfoy got there first. "Just shut up and take the damn broom. It's not as if we can't afford it."

Harry swallowed hard, but nodded. "Sure," he said as the two reached the perfectly manicured lawn of the Malfoy's private pitch.

Malfoy fashioned himself a seeker, as did Harry, and so the two would typically play by having a one on one race for the snitch. Harry was the winner far more often than not, something which bothered Draco to no end. Today, though, Malfoy was brimming with confidence. Harry, noting this, spoke. "You know, I'll be riding a new broom also."

Malfoy waved him off. "I'm not worried. You're not experienced enough to know how to handle a broom with such raw power as this one." And with that, Malfoy released the snitch and jumped on his broom, kicking off hard and rocketing through the sky at breakneck speed. Harry took his own newly minted broom and followed swiftly.

Harry tailed the other boy closely, their competition having immediately begun upon taking flight. He chose to let Draco take the lead, content that his skill and speed would carry him past Draco if he did happened to spot the snitch first. But if he went out on his own looking for the snitch, there was a possibility that Malfoy would encounter it first and grab the victory by pure luck. And so he chose the course that most effectively took luck out of the equation.

As they were flying over the pitch, Harry could see that Malfoy was growing frustrated. He had yet to see any sign of the golden snitch despite his speed on the new broom. He was indeed moving far more swiftly than was typical for him, but it didn't seem to help his vision at all, and this was still the most important aspect of being a seeker. The snitch had to actually be found. Harry, trying to salvage some of Draco's pride out of some notion of, well, self preservation, to tell the truth (he didn't much care to spend the summer with a boy constantly angry with him for beating him at the game), called out for Malfoy to stop. Malfoy did, coming to a hover in front of Harry.

"What?" he asked angrily.

"Wait." Harry said, flying back down towards the ground. He grabbed the quaffle that was a part of the set and tossed it to Malfoy. "Now, I know I'm no keeper, but try to score on me. It's worth a try."

Malfoy looked at the red ball in his hands and shrugged. Harry, taking this as a sign of acceptance, flew over to the hoops and situated himself in front of them. "Give me your best shot!" he shouted, and Malfoy did.

The boy sped towards the hoops at top speed, attempting a fake before throwing the quaffle with all his might. But Harry, having not bitten at the first move, intercepted the throw easily. Malfoy's cheeks tinted red, but he called for the quaffle again and gave it another try.

But five attempts later Malfoy was still no better off, having still not managed to put one quaffle passed Harry. Growling in frustration, Draco demanded that the two switch places. Harry agreed, but they were interrupted by Lucius walking out from the large house gesturing for the two of them to come down. The two flew to the ground to meet him.

Draco hit the ground roughly, clearly agitated, while Harry landed softly to his side. He spoke first.

"Minister, thank you very much for your kind gesture, but I'm not sure I can accept it. It is simply too much. I'd be happy to purchase the broom myself…"

"Nonsense, Harry!" Lucius interrupted. "It is no difficulty for us. I could afford to supply the entire Slytherin team without feeling any ill effect in my wallet. This is a gift, Harry. Consider it an early birthday present if you must."

Harry nodded, biting his tongue. Draco interjected roughly. "What is it you wanted from us, father?"

Lucius gave him a sharp glare. "Mind your tone, Draco. And I'm here for you, Harry. You have a visitor."

Draco muttered an apology under his breath as his father took Harry off towards the house, leaving Draco alone on the court.

As Harry walked with Malfoy, he was led to the entrance hall of the grand mansion. There, he was greeted by an unexpected visitor.

"A word, Harry?" Came the voice from his professor, Tom Riddle, situated patiently on one of the lush chairs reserved for guests. Harry nodded quickly, and Riddle stood, leading Harry out from the building and leading him on a walk of the grounds of Malfoy Manor.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

The mentor and student sat on the edge of the small lake that brushed up against the Malfoy's sprawling grounds. Harry tossed a small stone into the water, the ripples swelling out in a lazy spiral. He paused for a moment watching them and shook his head.

"I'm fine, professor."

Riddle nodded slowly. "Physically, that much is certain. You're worried though, about your godfather."

"Wouldn't you be?"

Tom thought for a moment. "I certainly would. But at the same time I would understand that your godfather is quite capable. He's survived this long in a dangerous line of work, fought in the war, he's strong. And he will be fine, Harry, in the end."

Harry shook his head. "We can't be sure. They don't know."

Riddle placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, the boy tensed at the touch. "Have faith, Harry."

"Why did you come here Professor?" Harry asked, effectively changing the subject.

Tom looked up at the waning midday sun, a cool breeze causing a momentary chill. He took a moment himself before answering. "I wanted to speak with you, Harry, about the incident, to assess how you were dealing with it."

"And how am I dealing with it?" Harry interrupted sharply.

"About as well as could be expected, it seems. You're angry, which is understandable."

Harry shook his head. "I'm angry, yes, but not just at the bastards – sorry professor – who attacked us but also at the ministry. Nobody will tell me who it was that attacked or what they wanted or why they targeted me. They won't tell me anything. I'm not a mindless child, I deserve to know. Since I've gotten here I've just had time to think about it, and the more I do the more I get angry."

"Alas, Harry, I'm sorry that I do not know those answers. If I did I would not hesitate to inform you."

Harry looked up at his professor, eyes shining. "Could you find out?"

And, despite himself, Riddle hesitated. "Harry, I'm not sure that…"

"You won't help me." Harry looked away, frustration evident on his face.

In that moment, Riddle made a decision. "On the contrary, Harry. I do not know the answers personally, but think for a moment. Why might someone target you?"

"I'm the ruddy Boy-Who-Lived."

Riddle nodded. "Right in one. You're a symbol, Harry. And thus those with dark intentions or aspirations of power and reputation could do well by causing you harm or removing you from the picture. This is one of the reasons I was interested at first in teaching you personally."

Harry thought for a moment. "I understand all that, it makes sense. But why now, and why Sirius? It seems like they were more after him anyway. And who the hell were they?"

Riddle held up a hand to slow Harry's questioning. "Again, Harry, I do not know these answers. But I will do my best to find some for you. On another subject, have you been finding the Malfoy's to be entirely hospitable?"

Harry chucked another rock into the lake, this time with more force, the ripples waving furiously over the surface of the water.

"Things are fine here. Although…" Harry trailed off.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"There's something that bothers me about Mrs. Malfoy."

At this both of Tom's eyebrows rose. "All accounts suggest that she's a very pleasant woman."

Harry looked to his professor seriously. "There's just something about her. Not anything she's actually done, but I can't help but notice that she very closely resembles a woman I saw while I was held captive."

"A physical resemblance?" Tom asked quickly.

Harry frowned. "Physical, yes, but also just in mannerisms, the way Draco's mother moves is… eerily similar to the way that woman did."

Riddle paused. "You think it was Narcissa you saw there?"

"No, I don't. They are similar, but not the same."

And a name escaped from Riddle's lips with a sigh. "Bellatrix."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange. Narcissa's sister."

Harry stood quickly. "You think it was her?"

Riddle ignored this question while looking out over the water deep in thought. "Harry," he spoke, eyes still focused on the lake, "have you told this to anyone else?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Who would I tell? I'd never seen Mrs. Malfoy until I arrived here, and I certainly couldn't tell Draco or Mr. Malfoy."

"No, you couldn't. And you still shouldn't."

Harry nodded. "I won't."

"Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry, made a name for herself during the great war. From what we know she went to Grindelwald's side straight out of Hogwarts, and quickly became known as one of his most efficient and brutal enforcers. She's quite mad, Harry, and can be vicious and cruel. She was important enough to Grindelwald that when she was captured, he personally went about rescuing her from Azkaban. He'd never done the same with another servant."

Harry looked around, bewildered. "That doesn't quite add up, Professor. The woman was very calm; she didn't even attempt anything illicit or dangerous."

"She's a master of mind games, Harry. She'll play with her victim, not allow them to fully understand their predicament until it is too late to do anything about it. If she was putting you at ease, Harry, then it is absolutely fortunate that you were rescued when you were."

"You sound like you have personal experience with this, Professor."

Riddle's look turned severe. "And some things, Mr. Potter, are none of your business."

Harry unconsciously took a step back, unnerved by the sudden hostility in his favorite professor's tone. "I'm… sorry, sir, I shouldn't have said that."

And Riddle's face slipped back into a semblance of neutrality. "All is well, Harry."

"If you think it is Lestrange, are you going to tell anyone?"

His professor nodded. "I'll inform Rufus as soon as I leave the premises. It should give him a few clues about where to look."

"What happened to Lestrange after Grindelwald fell?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Riddle shrugged, but spoke seriously. "Nobody is quite certain, as like many of Grindelwald's former servants, she was never apprehended. Rumors have placed her all over the world, and it would be of no surprise, Harry, is she wished to exact revenge upon the boy who destroyed her master."

Harry swallowed nervously. Riddle, noticing this, moved to reassure him.

"You need not worry, Harry, for while you are at Hogwarts you will be amply protected. And I'm certain that surveillance during the summer will be ramped up exponentially when you're out in public."

"You think she organized it, then? You think she went after Sirius?" Riddle watched as a dark, almost murderous look flitted across Harry's face.

"They are cousins, and never enjoyed one another's company. I'd suggest that, when your godfather awakes, you talk to him a little bit more about his family history, it really is quite fascinating."

Harry sat back down and looked up. Clouds were beginning to cover the sun; the temperature had dropped several degrees since the two had first made their way out to the lake.

"What about Hogwarts this year, Professor? Do you know who will be the new headmaster?"

At this, Tom Riddle's face broke into a smile. "And there, Harry, I have some news that you might find interesting. You will be having a new professor for Defense, Harry."

"What! Why won't you be teaching it?"

As Riddle spoke, the smile grew wider. "Because, Harry, I simply wouldn't have time. The Headmaster of Hogwarts takes on a significant burden, and there simply is no time to teach."

Harry's eyes widened. "You're the Headmaster?"

"Indeed."

"Wicked."

Riddle's eyes lit up with laughter. "I'm glad to know you approve, Harry. I must ask that this information stay between us for the time being. It should be announced soon enough, but for now…"

"Of course. I'll miss having you in defense. Who did you hire for the position?"

"Now Harry, that would be telling. You'll find out with the rest of your classmates. Come now, it is getting late and Lucius would be most upset with me if you were late to supper on my account."

The two stood from their perch on the edge of the lake and began their trek across the grounds and back towards the shadow of Malfoy Manor looming on the horizon. The clouds spread across the sky, leaving no trace the blue hidden behind them. Harry and Riddle made it to the relative safety of the door just as the skies unleashed their furies on the world below.

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Days turned into weeks for Harry Potter, and his birthday came and went without change in his godfather's condition. On the occasion itself, several of his Slytherin classmates had been invited to a party in his honor at Malfoy Manor. Ron Weasley was conspicuously absent from the proceedings, but Harry sent him an owl in explanation. He had yet to hear back from the other boy, but hoped for the best.

There had been several more visits from Professor Riddle, each more toned towards continuing the training Harry had begun while at Hogwarts. The Malfoy's of course had a room devoted towards dueling of all sorts, and while Harry worked with Riddle, Draco practiced traditional fencing with his father, who was an expert on the subject.

One particular Saturday morning found Harry and Draco in that room in the hour after breakfast. The senior Malfoy had been called in to the office and Mrs. Malfoy was off tending to one of the many charitable organizations of which she was a part.

"So Potter, what's Riddle teaching you?"

Draco Malfoy was standing near the far wall of the room, loitering next to the rack of armaments adorning the area. As he spoke, he inspected the blades individually.

"I don't really know how much I'm supposed to say about it."

Malfoy scoffed. "Sure, wouldn't want too many people to know of it. They'd say it smacks of favoritism."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "And what would you say?"

He laughed. "Of course I would agree. But then again, I wouldn't try to change it. Sometimes that's just the way things are."

Harry nodded in response. "That it is."

"But you can tell me, Potter. What sort of thing does one learn from the greatest and most effective auror in history?"

"Oh, I don't know. How to cast spells, I suppose."

Malfoy gave him a questioning look. "How to cast spells? It figures you'd need help with that."

Smiling, Harry smoothly drew his wand from his hip pocket. "You want a demonstration?"

Malfoy took a moment, weighing his options. "A duel, Potter? You've grown some balls."

Another smirk. "So crass, Draco. What would your mother think?"

Malfoy responded to the taunt in turn. "As long as I acquit myself as I should, I think she'll forgive me."

"Oh? Well then I think you're going to be in a spot of trouble when we get done here."

Malfoy laughed, and drew his wand. There was no bow from either boy as Harry fired the first spell from his wand, an underpowered cutting curse that was absorbed by Malfoy's _Protego_. The blond boy dropped the shield and sent a disarming hex back in Harry's direction.

Harry spun out of the way of the spell, firing off two stunning spells in quicker succession than Malfoy expected. He dove out of the way, not having time to set himself before having to move again, spurred on by a jet of fire spewing forth in a tight coil from Harry's wand.

"You see Malfoy," Harry lectured, "There's more to spells than the word and the general wand movement. You have to be entirely specific, tighten everything up both vocally and physically."

With a grunt, Malfoy sent a stinging hex towards Harry's wand hand. Harry smiled and moved the wand slightly to intercept the hex, catching it on the tip of his wand before sending it back towards Malfoy. The blond boy dodged quickly, his eyebrows raised.

"How the hell did you do that Potter?"

Harry shrugged, a wide grin on his face.

"So Potter," Malfoy started, sending another stunning spell towards Harry, "What is it you see in idiot like Weasley?"

Harry blocked the spell and returned a stunner in the opposite direction. "He's a good friend, Malfoy. I've known him for years."

"But how do you stand him?"

"Honestly, he really isn't so bad."

Malfoy frowned. "You sound like an effing Gryffindor, Potter."

Harry responded by shouting "_Expelliarmus_!"

The spell clipped Malfoy on the arm and sent his wand flying. Harry effortlessly caught it and leveled both wands toward the youngest Malfoy.

"Now I have a question for you, Malfoy." Harry snarled darkly, his kind features suddenly taking on a harsh feel. "Does the name Bellatrix Lestrange ring any bells?"

Malfoy's eyes shifted nervously in response to the sudden harshness of Harry's tone. "She's… she's my aunt."

"And have you ever meant dear old auntie?"

Malfoy gulped. "I… no, No I haven't." The boy was now sufficiently frightened, both by the look on Harry's face and the two wands he held to his head.

Harry stayed entirely still for a moment, the wands resting idly. "I wonder what would happen if I tried to curse you with two wands. I've never tried it. Would both wands work, would either? Care to find out?"

Harry smiled then. "Nah, not worth the effort." And with that, he tossed Malfoy's wand to the ground. "I'll just stick with what I know."

At that moment the door on the near side of the room opened up to reveal Lucius Malfoy standing in the frame, a triumphant look on his face. That look slid away, however, as he took in the scene before him, his son on the ground, Harry towering above him, wand pointed directly towards the blond haired boy whose wand was lying helpless on the ground beside him. He cocked his head slightly and spoke in a smooth tone.

"I assume there is a good explanation for this, Harry Potter."

Harry stepped back from Draco and turned to the boy's father, pocketing his wand while doing so. "We were dueling, sir. You just happened to catch the final moment."

"Draco?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the boy on whose face had appeared an embarrassing shade of pink. He nodded quickly.

"It's true."

The smile returned to Lucius' face. "In that case, nothing to worry about. I hope you can excuse a father's overprotective tendencies."

Harry smiled. "Of course."

Lucius gave Harry a slight once over. "Harry, I have some good news for you. Your godfather is awake."

Harry's eyes grew wide, the only sign that he had registered Lucius' comment. He spoke.

"May I see him now?"

"Indeed. Find Narcissa, and she'll take you to Saint Mungos, where your godfather has been undergoing treatment."

Harry nodded quickly and immediately dashed from the room. Lucius rounded on his son.

"As for you, Draco, you are to come with me. I have an announcement to make soon to the general wizarding public, and I want you to be there."

"Father, you mean it?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You have half an hour until you are to meet me in the study. Do please at least attempt to make yourself appear presentable."

And with that, Lucius swept from the room, leaving a surprised and slightly confused Draco behind.

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"Harry, what the hell are you doing here with _her_?"

These were the first words Sirius spoke to his godson upon waking up to see him in the room with one Narcissa Malfoy.

"It's great to see you too Sirius."

Black was laid up on a cot with light linen sheets pulled around his body. He still wasn't cleared to move around or stand, as the spell had caused some pretty severe internal damage, but at least he was awake. His hair was messy and lifeless, his face sallow and drawn tight.

"I look like a fucking mess, don't I? Sorry about the language, Harry." He amended at the look on Narcissa's face. "But really, what is she doing here?"

Narcissa finally spoke, a haughty look marring her otherwise attractive features. "For your information, Cousin, your godson has been staying with my family for the majority of the summer."

"What? Dumbledore wouldn't allow it."

She smirked. "Dumbledore has no authority here, Sirius. In fact, he's recently fled the country entirely."

"I don't believe you."

Harry took in the conversation, and pondered Dumbledore's apparent evacuation.

She shook her head. "Regardless, this isn't the conversation I think you should be having at the moment. Harry here has been waiting for months to talk to you. A little consideration, cousin…"

Sirius turned his head as much as he could to look Harry in the eye. "Harry, look, I'm sorry. Are you okay? You got out all right?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I did. The aurors, they brought me back."

Sirius continued. "And since then, Harry. The Malfoys? They've been treating you right?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, Sirius, just fine. And it's me who should be worried about you. How are you feeling?"

Sirius attempted to wiggle his fingers, to no avail. "Pretty numb, Harry. They're not letting me feel much of anything at the moment. I'll take that to be a bad sign."

"But you're awake. I'll take that to be a good one."

Sirius smiled lightly. "Sure thing."

There was a momentary lull in the conversation. Harry took the moment to turn to Narcissa. "Mrs. Malfoy, would you mind if I spoke with my godfather personally for a moment? I mean, in private."

Narcissa frowned lightly. "I suppose, Harry, but don't trouble him unduly. Your godfather needs his rest." She smirked at Sirius on this last statement. He narrowed his eyes in return.

Harry interrupted. "We'll be fine."

Narcissa Malfoy nodded and turned from the room, Harry looked back at Sirius.

"There's a problem."

Sirius took a moment before responding. "What do you mean? There's clearly a problem in that I can't move right now, but besides that…"

"What do you know about Bellatrix Lestrange?"

A dark cloud fell across Black's face. "Where did you hear that name."

Harry frowned as well. "Professor Riddle. She was there, Sirius. I saw her. She was involved somehow in you getting hurt and the both of us getting captured."

Sirius swore under his breath. "I'd hoped she'd gone and gotten herself killed somewhere. That doesn't seem to be the case, unfortunately."

Harry nodded seriously. "I just thought you should know."

"Absolutely. Does the ministry know this?"

Harry shook his head. "No, only Riddle. And he was extremely concerned."

"How do you know it was her."

Harry sat down heavily on one of the chairs reserved for visitors and pulled it close to his godfather's bed. "I didn't know, I'd never heard the name. When I told Riddle about the incident, I mentioned that I saw a woman there who looked remarkably like Narcissa Malfoy, but it clearly wasn't her. Professor extrapolated from there."

Sirius spoke quickly. "Harry, did she hurt you?"

"No. I only saw her for a moment. She seemed… calm."

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Lucius Malfoy stood on a stage in front of a large audience full of staunch supporters and reporters for the Prophet decorated in the finest dress robes (with a shimmering quality that added an almost ethereal appearance the regal man), the sun was gleaming above him, shining down upon the Minister and his son, Draco, who stood behind and to the right of his father's podium.

As Lucius cleared his throat, the crowd's mumbling hushed almost instantly. Malfoy tapped his wand to his throat and began to speak.

"I would like to welcome you all to the ministry of magic on this fine morning. We are here today to celebrate the past and future of the education of our world. As you all know, over this past year there has been some turmoil at Hogwarts, the premiere institute for magical education in the entirety of the magical world, but I stand here today to tell you that this time of turmoil has indeed passed. Firstly, of course, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the service of the former headmaster of Hogwarts, one Albus Dumbledore. The man has been a great educator for the better part of a century, he dedicated his time and his heart towards the betterment of our magical society. In fact, I would doubt there are many living today whose time at Hogwarts was not, in one way or another, shaped by Professor Dumbledore. He was an inspiration to many of us, and helped to lead us to our various destinations in life. As I stated, it would be absolutely wrong of me to not recognize the man's contributions to us all."

He began to clap at this, and the audience followed suit. After a moment, the applause died down, and Lucius continued.

"But change, my friends, is inevitable, and one cannot delay the advent of new advantages out of mere sentiment alone. The time has come for reform, for a new face, a new presentation. Hogwarts, the vaunted institution, must not be allowed to become stagnant, for as goes Hogwarts so goes the ministry and magical Britain itself. And so, as we find ourselves in the position we are now, needing to progress but also understanding the importance of tradition, we as a people must find someone who can lead our children, our future, on their way with intelligence, temerity, and a willful understanding of the meaning of progress. And I have found for you that man. I would like to introduce to you all a man who is known as a hero of the Great War, last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and a good friend. I welcome to the stage Tom Riddle!"

The crowd clapped thunderously as the handsome and seemingly ageless features of Tom Marvolo Riddle took to the stage and the podium. He raised his arms and the crowd fell into a lull.

"I thank you for that kind welcome, my friends, and I thank as well Minister Malfoy and the school governors for this opportunity. I say to them and to you all now, that I will not let you down. Now, if I may, I have just a few brief words for you all. I would like to highlight something that our Minister has said. The word change brings about a certain sort of feeling in the hearts of many. There is, in this feeling, fear that the world we know and love, the world in which we find comfort, there is fear that change means the abandonment of the traditions that have root in our ancestry, traditions that have made our nation great. There is also inherent in the word another feeling, another sense. The sense of exhilaration, of excitement. The feeling that there is a chance for progress, for the betterment of ourselves and our family and our people. I would like to reassure you now that progress will not come at the expense of our history. Change can be made while still respecting the process that brought us to this day. In fact, some of these changes will be driven by our respect for our traditions and history. Do not fear that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will become unrecognizable. But I ask you to embrace the portion in your heart that feels excitement at the world. The very tangible sense of possibility, of progress, this is the drive that will build our nation and allow it to flourish even further. So know that I intend to be more than just a figurehead. There will be real change, real progress, and Hogwarts will be made to reflect the spirit of our people. The spirit of possibility, of hope, and of progress. This is the power of magic, my friends. This is the power of our nation."

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Thanks for reading, feel free to review. Flames and shit perfectly welcome.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"So Sirius, where are you going to stay?"

It was the day before Harry's scheduled return to Hogwarts. Harry was sitting on his cot in the room they were sharing above the Leaky Cauldron, while Sirius was sitting at the small table in the makeshift kitchen. He swiveled in the chair to face Harry.

"I'm sure I'll find a place."

Harry frowned. "So you really can't go back to Grimmauld?"

Sirius shook his head. "It's not safe, the location's been compromised."

"That wasn't your fault."

Sirius lowered his eyes. "I gave up the information, I got you captured, I…"

"Did everything you could." Harry spoke softly. "I don't blame you."

Sirius sat back in the chair with a heavy sigh. "I still can't believe you spent the summer with the Malfoys. Sounds unbearable."

Harry shrugged. "It could've been worse. They treated me well."

Sirius scoffed lightly. "They wouldn't have any other choice. Lucius would face a shitstorm if word got out that you were being mistreated."

Harry mused. "Bought me a broom and everything."

Black's eyebrows rose. "And you took it? I'll say I'm a bit surprised."

Harry sat back on the cot, his eyes tracing the grooves in the textured ceiling. "I didn't really have any other option. Had to be polite and whatnot."

Sirius merely grunted in response. The newspaper that sat unread on the table in front of him seemed to be the true receptacle of his ire.

"What's wrong, Sirius?"

His godfather shook his head. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"Are you going back to active duty?"

He nodded. "Soon enough. Once you're back at school and I've found a place for the short term."

"And the problem is?"

Sirius took the newspaper in front of him and tossed it into the fireplace that was crackling with a warm enchanted glow. "None of your concern, Harry."

Harry sighed and flopped back completely. "I'm not a child, Sirius."

This caused a smile to break across the older man's face. "Unfortunately, Harry, you actually are. Regardless of your level of maturity. There are still some things you shouldn't have to deal with."

"Does it have to do with the Death Eaters?"

Sirius gave him a sharp look. "Where'd you hear that phrase?"

Harry, not meeting that gaze, answered, "It was bandied about during the time I spent in the auror headquarters after the attack. They wouldn't tell me anymore."

"As they shouldn't."

This time it was Harry who glared at his godfather. "I don't like being kept in the dark. I'm involved in this just like you are. Not of my own choosing, they targeted the both of us. So like it or not, I'm involved in this mess. And so I should know what it is they want, what's going on. Tell me."

"Harry…"

"_Tell. Me._"

Black glanced momentarily at Harry's sharp glare before looking away. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I was asked not to involve you, Harry, not until you are fully ready to deal with the consequences."

"And how will you determine that? Besides, who asked you to do that? You wouldn't care if Malfoy was the one who requested it."

Sirius sighed. "It was Dumbledore who made the request, Harry. And I respect the man's wishes."

Harry gave Sirius a look of incredulity. "He's not even involved in this! He's not even my headmaster anymore. He shouldn't have any say over my actions. Or yours, for that matter."

"Be that as it may, now isn't the time. You'll need to be focused on your studies for the coming year."

Harry scoffed. "Oh come on, you know as well as I do that I'm already way ahead of my classmates. Riddle has seen to that."

"All the more reason to keep working! We've talked about this, you know you're also a target, a symbol, and if you were to be captured or killed it would be a huge accomplishment for the Death Eaters, to have done what Grindelwald couldn't!"

"So they are after me specifically."

Black growled in frustration. "Harry. I'm just trying to do what's best for you. That's all Dumbledore wants also."

Harry sat up. "What's best for me would be to tell me what's going on, so that I can be prepared."

"You don't need to be! Hogwarts is perfectly safe."

Harry nodded. "Maybe so, but it doesn't seem that anywhere else truly is. Hell, it took all of a few hours for me to be attacked upon leaving school."

Sirius nodded. "And now we're more prepared."

There was a pause in which neither of the two spoke.

"Did Dumbledore really leave?"

Sirius sighed. "Yes, unfortunately. I didn't believe it at first either, but he made contact a few days ago. He's in France."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Malfoy wants me to visit him." Harry said, changing the subject after a momentary pause.

"What? Draco?"

Harry shook his head. "No, the Minister. Last year he invited me to visit the ministry, to meet some of those he considers influential."

Black's face took a serious turn. "Did he tell you why, Harry?"

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Not specifically. He said he wants to afford me every opportunity to succeed."

"You don't need his help."

Harry smiled. "Maybe not. But I think I'll take him up on his offer at some point this year. I'm interested in what he's got to say. He wasn't around much over the summer."

Sirius looked weary. "Be careful, Harry. That's all I ask.

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Tom Riddle sat uncomfortably behind the large desk that inhabited the central portion of the traditional Headmaster's office in Hogwarts. The room itself was depressingly blank; the trinkets that once adorned the desk and bookshelves in front of him had vanished, replaced with only a few musty books. The Sorting Hat was still there, tucked away into a corner, awaiting the evening's festivities. Riddle had not yet had the gall to place the Hat on his head. In some ways, the prospect of a proper conversation with the object seemed interesting and quite possibly enlightening, but he also feared what the Hat may have to say about him.

It would be the smallest Hogwarts class in over a century; largely due to the restrictions Malfoy had coerced the Governors into passing. They involved a complex formula intended to divine the potential contributions of the student to the magical world, with lineage included as a major contributing factor in the equation. That wasn't to say that there were no muggleborns this year. In fact, there were a total of six. The previous classes had ranged anywhere from fifteen to thirty. The percentage of half and half students had taken a dive as well. This didn't particularly bother him. In fact, the idea of pruning the number of students to craft a more elite school was an actually an initiative of his conceiving. But Malfoy had run with it in the wrong direction, focusing on lineage instead of magical power. True there was some correlation, but it was not definitive.

And Dumbledore would have hated it. Would have fought tooth and nail. But he was no longer here, no longer in the country. This made Riddle's life easier. If the man had been there, he would have felt his pressure to conform to the standards Albus had set. But he needn't worry. The former headmaster was gone. And he had mixed feelings about it.

Malfoy had been somewhat problematic himself, forcing upon him that horrid woman, saying that he wanted eyes in the school himself, and Riddle had told Malfoy under no uncertain terms that if she caused problems, he wouldn't hesitate to remove her from the castle immediately. Malfoy had agreed, and had also heartily approved of the choice for Defense professors. It seemed for the most part that things were progressing smoothly. He could almost smile, almost relax.

But then there was Potter. It was hard to tell how the boy was feeling about anything, really. He was open when it came to training, the two worked together well, but he was hardly your typical Slytherin. He was tempted to ask the Hat why it had put him in that particular house, but then again, he was still concerned about conversing with the Hat in general.

And one other thing. Now that he was here, now that he was the headmaster, he had free reign over the castle. He realized exactly what that meant. The Chamber, he thought, would have to be explored. He had discovered it in his youth, but had not the wherewithal at the time to truly reveal all of the secrets the ancient space contained. He hadn't dared approach it during the year prior. The Chamber was still one thing that Dumbledore was not aware of. At least, he was not aware of Riddle's direct involvement in the incident. He intended to keep it that way.

But now he had his chance. There was so much potential. The Basilisk, of course, but that was merely the guardian, the monster. And it wasn't books he was searching for, not tomes of knowledge, but the physical being of the Chamber itself. It was among the oldest untouched areas of the castle – everywhere the students went had of course been renovated from time to time to reflect the standards of the day, and the magic that he suspected had once emanated from the very walls of the school had now retreated only to the depths. But Slytherin's hide out, it was raw, untouched. The masonry itself the very original, the walls had not yet been tuned out. He had felt the power of the place as a child, but had not the knowledge at the time to exploit the possibilities of the place.

But now, decades later, he would finally have his chance.

His musing was interrupted by a knock on the door. He snapped his fingers and the door opened, revealing one Severus Snape in the doorframe. He took him in, his distaste for the man palpable in his mind. He spoke stiltedly.

"May I help you, Severus?"

The potions master nodded and Riddle gestured for him to sit at the desk in front of him.

"I wanted to seek your opinion." The sallow man spoke haltingly.

"Yes?"

"With Dumbledore gone, I'm admittedly a bit… concerned."

Riddle leaned forward on the desk in front of him. "And why would that be?"

"I'm not sure quite how to say this."

Riddle thought for a moment. "You're considering how to tell me that you were under our former headmaster's protection, am I correct?"

Snape looked up, startled. "I… yes. Something along those lines."

"And you are concerned as to the repercussions of Dumbledore's abdication."

Snape spoke in a low tone. "If that's what you call it. Yes, you're correct."

"Why do you need protection, Snape?"

Snape's face took on a dark look at the question. "You know that answer, Riddle."

"Severus. I do believe you might at least attempt to call me by my proper title." A smile crossed Tom's face.

The potions master looked at his feet, and then back to Riddle. "Headmaster. I need your help."

"But what reason do I have to give it?'

"I can help you."

Riddle sat back then, waiting a few moments before responding. "And how could you do that?

Snape gave him a wry look. "You think I don't have any talents that could be… exploited?"

Riddle actually laughed at this. "And for what reason would I need any of your talents? You're assuming some ulterior motive here, some opponent, and I've none."

"Come now _Headmaster_, I'm not an idiotic student. I'm well aware that you're playing games."

"You confuse me, Snape, when you say games."

"You and the minister are working towards some overarching goal. Inevitably there will be opposition."

Tom's eyes danced with mirth. "Of the political sort, very possibly. But you've hardly any cache' in that area."

It was Snape's turn to lean forward. "It has been my experience that the physical sort invariably accompanies the political sort."

Riddle cocked his head for a moment. "And what would you want from me in return?"

"Nothing more than an assurance that my position will not be compromised."

"And why would it be either way? Is there something I should know, Severus?"

Severus pounded his fist on the desk in front of him. "Damn it, I told you to stop playing games!"

Riddle spoke smoothly. "You and your games, Severus." He waited a moment before continuing. "To the topic at hand… there's no reason for me to evict you at the moment, Severus. And you are correct in that you do have some redeemable qualities. None in your personality, I'm afraid, but when it comes to magical talents, you may have some use after all. So go back to your quarters, Snape, and come to the great hall for the sorting, and generally go about your business as usual. Don't ask me about this again. When I need you, you'll know.

Snape started to speak, but Riddle cut him off.

"That's all, Snape. I'll see you at the sorting."

Severus Snape nodded curtly before turning on his heel and marching towards the exit, frustration evident even in his stride.

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Albus Dumbledore was tired. And his appearance showed it. Never before had the man seemed so frail, so worn down by the events of the day. He sighed as he shook his head slowly and sat on the worn but comfortable armchair in the front corner of the antechamber where it could not be seen by one entering through the front door. His robes were muted, more ragged than he'd ever allowed them to become before. In many ways it was a reflection of the times, for his trip to France had ended up a failure.

Despite his warnings, the French President had no interest in conflicting with the current British Ministry or even putting in to practice contingency plans for if (when, Albus suspected) the isle became aggressive towards its neighbors abroad. He was complacent, and the former headmaster had no proof, no bargaining chips other than his own reputation. And that did not carry him as far these days as it had in time gone by.

He looked around, taking in the sight of the unfamiliar dwelling. In many ways he was surprised that the room wasn't more ornate, given the owner's penchant for playing up the purity of his lineage and the family wealth. He was also a member of the Wizengamot, and so it was indeed surprising to him that the room was not ostentatious.

He had decided not to inspect the rest of the lodging, as he had no desire to discover just what the man might be hiding in his home. That was not his concern, at the moment, and he had no wish to trigger any of the traps the man might have set. Naturally he had swept the front chamber itself for anything, but besides the wards around the house, which of course had proved no match for him, there was nothing in the area to be concerned about.

The spindling grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck eleven, and Albus peered through the window to the foggy grounds outside. His target would be home soon, he surmised. He lazily drew his wand and folded his hands on his lap.

As suspected, the knob turned and the front door to the mansion swung open on its hinges. Evan Rosier stepped inside and closed the door behind him, dropping his cloak and briefcase on the ground beside him. Rosier heard the clearing of a throat coming from behind and he swung around, his wand sweeping into his hand as he turned.

The wand was pointed directly towards the bemused face of Albus Dumbledore.

"What the hell are you doing here Dumbledore? This is my home; you're intruding on private…"

The wizened old man did not answer with words, merely twitched his wand hand, silencing the owner of the home in an instant.

Rosier snarled silently and swung the wand in downward arc, a slash of purple crossing the small room and reaching Dumbledore in an instant. But it was to no effect, as the spell disintegrated on a bright blue shield that had instantly sprung up around the old man.

Dumbledore gave a soft tut. "Evan, resorting to the Dark Arts by reflex? Without knowing my intentions here? Presumptuous, to say the least."

The man waved his wand and removed the silencing charm. "What do you want?"

"Well really," and with these words, Dumbledore stood, "What I want is something you're likely to fight against heavily. And so I suppose in some ways you were correct in your attack. I am your enemy here, Evan, I'm sorry to say."

And with speed that belied his age, the former professor brandished his wand with a snap, rendering the other man unconscious on the floor of his own home. Dumbledore smiled grimly, and set to work.

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And he was back. In some ways it felt quite surreal for Harry Potter. The ceiling of the Great Hall projected to them all the clarity of the night sky, the moon shining down with its omnipresent gaze. Harry looked around to the various tables representing the houses of Hogwarts. The summer had moved so swiftly. Several of the faces he knew and recognized from class seemed older; it was remarkable to him the difference a few months could make.

He spotted Ron across the hall and waved to him slightly. Ron gave him a small grin and nodded his head. Harry made a mental note to include his friend in some of his 'study' sessions, Malfoy be damned.

Speaking of the blond boy, Harry had yet to speak with him since boarding the Hogwarts express. He saw him a few seats down engaged in a heated but soft conversation with Parkinson. Harry leaned in a bit, trying to decipher what the conversation might be about, but to no avail.

His attempt was interrupted by McGonagall clearing her throat, the sound magically amplified throughout the hall. The students of the school grew silent as the new first years were brought into the massive room. Harry smirked as he saw their faces, so young and in awe. It seemed to him ages ago that he was one of them. A full year since he had been sorted into the Slytherin house. Idly, he wondered how different things might have been had he been a Gryffindor. Or a Hufflepuff, for that matter.

Shuddering at the thought, Harry tuned out the Sorting Hat's song as Blaise leaned in to whisper to him.

"Feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it."

Harry nodded. "At least we're no longer the bottom rung."

Blaise shook his head. "You never were, Potter. You had it easy."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Easy?"

"Hell yes. You attacked a _staff member_ for Christ's sake. And you're still in attendance. You think I could get away with something like that?"

Harry turned away, mumbling. "I had my reasons."

"I'm sure you did. Hell, I'm not upset with you for stunning Filch; we all know the right bastard deserved it. Just pointing it out."

Harry shook his head. "Anyway, do you know who the new defense teacher is?"

Blaise looked surprised. "No, I don't. I figured if anyone would, it'd be either you or Malfoy."

"Nobody would tell me."

Zabini glanced up at the high table. "Nobody new there."

"Nope. I guess we'll find out at the first defense class. Wonder why he couldn't make it here?"

Blaise shrugged. "Who knows?"

They watched as one Colin Creevey, a small mousey looking boy, became the first Slytherin. He tripped as he made his way to the house table while Harry and Blaise exchanged looks.

"He won't last a day."

Blaise chuckled in agreement.

Harry studied the new crop of students. He did not recognize any of them, either, which of course wasn't surprising. But the line looked significantly shorter than it had a year prior. He wasn't sure if that was just his imagination or if it were actually relevant.

As the sorting finished, the new students now strewn throughout the house tables, Harry sighed and sat back in his chair. The food had not yet appeared, and he expected that Professor Riddle would make an announcement before the feast began. But to his surprise, an abundance of cutlery suddenly appeared on the table in front of him. He looked up to see Riddle conversing casually with Flitwick, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Harry shrugged, and began to eat.

As the feast reached it conclusion, only then did the newly minted Headmaster of Hogwarts stand and step to the podium. And there was something he did in that moment that was unlike anything Dumbledore had ever done. Rather than clear his throat, or even make a sound to command attention, he simply stood and snapped his finger lightly.

Harry, Blaise, all of the students could feel it then. The aura of sheer power that washed out over the students, they all turned to the source at the front of the head table, growing instantly silent. Even the youngest students, with no magical training as of yet, felt the motion.

And Riddle smiled. The sense retracted, ebbing away from the students like the tide, a lingering recognition still there but the full brunt now washed away. Harry glanced at Blaise, who looked back with wide eyes.

"Welcome, one and all, to another year at Hogwarts. To those of you who are about to embark on this journey for the first time, on behalf of the entire faculty I grant you a warm welcome. To those returning, I trust you are sufficiently prepared and ready for the year that lies ahead. The diligent of you will notice, once your timetables have been handed out, that course loads may seem larger this year. This is intentional, as classes are being split from the traditional curriculum into two separate segments in those areas which demand it. The two segments will separate theory and application, you will find fewer free periods during the day, but the extra time spent in class will help to offset the necessity for outside work, especially regarding the practicalities of the work. Your individual professors will inform you in more detail how these changes will apply to their particular classes.

In addition, the school will be incorporating a few additional programs on a provisional basis. One of these will be a class entitled Wizarding Ethics, which will also be a required class for each student at Hogwarts, albeit one with the possibility of being bypassed on the basis of demonstrated aptitude. More on this later. The second program will be for fifth year students and above who have been taking both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, which will aim to impart the art of spell crafting to our most gifted students.

And finally, as I can see you are all tired and ready to return to your common rooms" This was hardly true, as Riddle had the entire Hall's rapt attention, "I have but one more announcement. There have been two appointments made regarding the core classes of the curriculum. We have both a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and a new teacher of History of Magic. You shall meet both professors in your classes. But for those who are curious, their names are Professor Evan Rosier, and Professor Dolores Umbridge.

Now, to bed!"

And with that, Riddle stepped back from the podium, watching the students stand and follow their respective prefects back to their separate parts of the castle with a large smile plastered across his face. It was a genuine smile, for as Riddle watched the proceedings, he could not help but look forward to the coming year. This was his school. And he would make it great.

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Read, Review, and all that. Let me know what you think.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN  
**

"_There's nowhere to run, Gellert."_

"_What happened to you, Albus? Have they swayed you truly?"_

"_It was a decision I made on my own."_

_Grindelwald laughed, his face turned away from his best friend and the crowd that had amassed behind him in the atrium of the Ministry. "One could consider this treason, you know. I could have you arrested. This is my ministry."_

_"Not a soul here will follow your orders. I've seen to that. We've all learned your true nature, and we simply won't tolerate it." Aberforth Dumbledore stepped from the crowd, a harsh and vindicated smile upon his face. _

_Grindelwald's face turned grim. "I should have rid the world of you years ago, you foolish boy."_

_The younger Dumbledore laughed. "Yes, you're absolutely right about that."_

_Gellert's eyes turned to those of Albus. "You don't want this, Albus. I know you better than anyone. You don't want to let yourself grow weak; to allow the mindless masses a hold over your strength, your magic. Keep in mind your ideals, remember: For the Greater Good. Albus. I know you."_

_Albus sighed, his age belied by his weariness. "Maybe once, Gellert, that was correct. But no longer."_

_The sandy haired man turned fully around at this, facing both Dumbledores and the crowd of ministry workers who had organized this… this rebellion against him. His insides raged, but his outside remained calm. _

"_Will you raise your wand against me, Albus?"_

_The older Dumbledore's wand shook slightly in his hand and still had not been raised to point at his old friend. Albus looked down at it, and then back to Grindelwald. _

"_I don't want to."_

_There was a soft murmuring from the crowd behind Albus, and he continued to speak. _

"_But I will if you force my hand. Step down, Gellert, and come with us to face the proceedings. You've grown corrupt, you must know this. I want to help."_

_Grindelwald's eyebrows rose quickly at this declaration. "You insinuate that I need help."_

_Albus looked almost abashed. "I don't want to do this to you."_

_"Don't then. Stay with me."  
_

_Aberforth stepped forward at this, placing his hand on the shoulder of his older brother. _

"_He's not so weak as to need you. He won't stay. He's made his decision."_

_Gellert spoke still to Albus. "Is your brother your keeper now?"_

"_I am my own man." _

"_You say that and yet you jump at his every command. As you once did at mine. Albus, you have never been your own man. You must face the facts. Despite your considerable magical talent, you are a follower. Not a leader. Never a leader."_

_Dumbledore raised his wand, but Grindelwald was faster. There was a bang and a crash of smoke, and Albus was left wounded on the ground as the Minister of Magic turned and fled, cursing the anti-apparition wards that had been placed around the area. _

_Aberforth ran to his brother's side, but Albus was already rising to his feet steadily, blood trickling from his side. He turned. _

"_I'm going after him, brother."  
_

_Aberforth nodded and watched impassively as Albus rushed down the corridor in pursuit of his childhood friend. _

_He had an idea about what the man would do. If he was correct, and he assumed that he was, Gellert had put in to place contingency plans, preparing for a situation that would call for him to flee. He wouldn't leave himself without an exit. It wasn't the way he worked. In some ways, it was something Albus admired about the man. He was intelligent enough to realize that defeat was always a possibility, victory is never assured, and so one he would never put himself into a situation in which retreat was not possible. But where were the safeguards? What were they? They had covered the ministry, working for hours prior to the confrontation – he would not be able to apparate away. The major entrances and exits were being watched, the floo network was being monitored. Aberforth had seen to that with swift efficiency. Really it had been quite impressive, his brother had an analytical and organized mind, he had known what needed to be done, and had ensured that they didn't act too soon, without preparation. But there was no conventional way for Gellert to run. And so… where?_

_And then it hit him. The Department of Mysteries. Grindelwald had always held a fascination for the place, and the untold magics it contained. And the unspeakables were the most unpredictable of the lot – they might even allow Gellert through. It was hard to tell their motives, for obvious reasons – they never spoke of them. And so Albus rushed in that direction, down the hollow empty corridors and hoping that he was on the trail of his old friend. _

_He stopped at the entrance. The large double doors that signified the entrance had clearly been broken, forced open against their will. His intuition had been correct, only Grindelwald would have the audacity to force himself through. With a wave of his wand, the doors parted, (the sealing magic having already been broken) and Dumbledore stepped through into the main chamber. _

_And there he was - engaged in a battle with several of the staff for the department. Albus felt a surge of triumph. Gellert had been thwarted, he had not managed to escape before he could be confronted. He was also pleased to note that the Department of Mysteries had not just turned their backs and let Gellert proceed. _

_Albus stepped forward, and in a booming voice, he spoke. "Gellert! Your time is up. Stand down, you've nowhere to flee."_

_At first sound of the voice, Grindelwald turned his head in surprise. He paid for his lack of attention when one of the unspeakable's lacerating curse struck him across the shoulder. He cried out in pain, and Albus felt himself grimace unconsciously. _

_Grindelwald raised his hands and let his wand slip from his fingers and clatter to the ground in front of him. "You have me outnumbered and outgunned, Albus. So I'll stand down." _

_Albus stepped forward, his wand arm slowly relaxing. "You're making the right decision, Gellert. There's still a chance to change things. We can fix this, I know we can."_

_The sandy haired man actually laughed. "You believe that, Albus? You think that lot will give me a second chance?"_

_The three unspeakables had taken a few steps back, but their wands were still out, and they had fanned out to surround the two men. _

"_I will see to it, Gellert. You may go to prison, this is true, but not forever. You will have another chance."_

_Grindelwald's face grew dark. "You ask me to cater to the whims of the weakest element of our society? Are you truly so far gone, Albus? Power matters, you know this. Don't discount what you believe because you disapprove of my methods."_

"_Subtly engineering to have the supposed 'weakest' among us either obliviated or prevented from acquiring wands in the first place, this is not the answer. You know that. Magic is one's right, and depriving even the weakest near-squib of their birthright – that's absolutely reprehensible."_

"_And so what would you have me do instead? You want me to welcome them with open arms, spend the same amount of time with them as with the most talented among us? What you advocate for, this bizarre notion of equality, is a fallacy, Albus, when we are inherently unequal. Inherently, Albus, there are those who are strong and those who are weak. We are not the same, no matter what way you spin it. You know this! Think of Hogwarts, where you received your schooling. What did they do there to encourage your genius? You were forced to receive the same education, follow the same curriculum, as those who were nowhere near as accomplished or intelligent as you. You progressed on your own, no help from your so called teachers in sight."_

_Albus' face grew taut. "And you, Gellert, were thrown out of Durmstrang. A fact you neglected to inform the public and the Wizengamot before the election."_

"_That's hardly the point. This country is stifling you. I wanted to change that, to better my adopted home. But you have turned your back on me. You, Albus, are the cause. The sickness that plagues this land. And it must be expunged." _

_With this statement, Gellert whirled and swiftly summoned his wand back to him. The unspeakables reacted quickly, spraying foul curses in Grindelwald's direction. But they were still too slow, as he had already retrieved his wand and bounded away from the radius of the curses. In one swift movement he cast a wordless bounding charm on himself and sprung up and landed behind one of the surprised unspeakables. With a slice of his wand, the man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling on the ground around the body. _

_Albus' face turned grave. "And now, Gellert, now you may be too far gone." _

_He smirked. "By your reasoning, Albus, I always have been." With a quick flick of his wand he parried the incoming curse and sent it back to the source. The member of the Department of Mysteries was smashed backwards, victim to his own blasting curse. Grindelwald flicked his wand and the man was lifted up and smashed neatly against the side wall. He went limp on the ground. _

_The last unspeakable turned and looked at Dumbledore. Albus bade him leave. "Go, you can do no more here." He nodded and fled, leaving the two men alone in the main chamber of the Department of Mysteries. _

"_So now," Gellert spoke, "It begins in earnest."_

_Dumbledore nodded and raised his wand for the fight. _

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The class, comprised of second year Slytherins and Gryffindors, filed in hesitantly. It was clear they were not sure what to expect. Evan Rosier was known as a strong supporter of the Dark Arts in education, and his hiring clearly signaled that Riddle was willing to move the school more in that direction. The class took their seats, waiting for a sign of life from the older man sitting impassively at the head of the class room.

A minute passed in silence before he did anything at all. He rose slowly to his feet, drawing his wand in the process.

"What can any of you tell me," he spoke softly now, but had the class' rapt attention, "about the Dark Arts?"

The class, even though filled to the brim with Slytherins and even one Harry Potter, remained silent. Rosier smiled grimly.

"To fight the Dark one must come face to face with it. One must know what one combats. To fight the evil in the world you must make your stand with your eyes open. And so again, I ask you; what can you tell me of the Dark Arts?"

Harry and Malfoy looked to one another for a moment, before Nott raised his hand to speak.

"Go on," Rosier spoke, "Nott, is it?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir. The Dark Arts are magics that have been classified as dark by the ministry. They exist to cause pain and suffering, to exert one's self over another."

Rosier nodded slightly, his face impassive. "You are slightly correct. It is true that the ministry has classified certain spells and rituals as dark, and the use thereof is punishable by either fine or time in Azkaban Prison. The most famous of these are of course the Unforgivables. But we'll speak more on those later. The Dark Arts are more subtle than your second definition. By no means does every dark spell or classified ritual cause more pain or suffering than any other curse allowed for public consumption. The Dark Arts simply command power, encourage that feeling in the user, cause dangerous recklessness. In truth, and I say this so that you know, that you always understand the temptation – many of the spells classified as dark are called such because of how they feel. Many of the Dark Arts feel, for lack of a better word, excellent. They engender a rush, a feeling of confidence and power, the wielder does not necessarily gain strength from the dark, but they _feel_ that they do, and that can be just as dangerous. And so yes, there is a certain amount of domination expected from the user of the dark, the intent and desire for power, but that is not the reason the dark can be so tempting. And you must know this, must understand this, for only then can you begin to fight the temptation in yourself and in others."

The class was silent. Rosier smiled now, wand still in hand.

"Now, as to what the Dark Arts can _do_. Potter, come up."

Harry looked around for a moment, slightly bewildered with a sense of foreboding, before he stood and made his way to the front of the classroom.

Rosier took him aside and casually waved his wand, conjuring an effigy in the rough shape of a human being. He spoke softly to Harry, so the rest of the class could not hear their conversation.

"Potter, you have your wand, I presume."

He nodded.

"Good. I want you to try something for me. First, I want you to think of the most horrible experience you can remember – vividly, Potter, so nothing from your early childhood. Can you do that?"

Harry nodded again, summoning up the moment where he discovered that Sirius had been captured, when he had been held against his will.

"And another thing. I read in the paper this morning that there was a certain prisoner who escaped from Azkaban Prison this morning. If I recall, you have some familiarity with the man. Is that correct?

Harry clenched his teeth, his eyes flashing in true anger.

"The thought of him free makes you angry? Good." Rosier smiled. "Now, I want you to hold on to that anger, and, as you cast with the incantation I'm about to give you, I want you to picture sending that anger through your wand, channeling it and allowing it to flow through you towards your target.

Harry nodded, harshly this time, with his fist clenched tightly around his wand.

"Now, Harry, the incantation is _Flammasectum_. Understand?"

Harry smiled grimly.

Rosier took that as a confirmation, and spoke quickly. "Now then, Harry. Cast the curse, if you can. Channel that anger, allow it to course through your veins and out through the wand. Now!"

And Harry yelled out with his instructor's command, "_Flammasectum!_"

A lance of tightly controlled but intensely hot flame lashed out from the boy's wand and struck the target, engulfing it instantly in flame. The heat was intense, forcing the class to back away. Harry's wand continued to spew flame towards the quickly disintegrating target, and so Rosier, with a swish of his wand, dispelled the flame and stifled Harry's wand.

There was sweat on the boy's brow as he stepped back. His face was inscrutable as he examined the wand held in his hand.

The class was looking on with something very akin to terror. Harry turned to face them, but couldn't find any words to say.

"Remarkable, Harry." He spoke quietly to him. Harry nodded.

"And so you see," Rosier spoke now to the class, "you see the power that can be wielded, even by one of your own age. Harry. How did it feel?"

Harry swallowed hard before speaking. "There's this… there's a rush. A feeling of… power. Like I could do anything, and there's nobody out there who could stop me."

"The power, it is truly intoxicating. And so to conquer the dark one first needs to conquer their desire for it, their need for that kind of power. Because otherwise it becomes all too easy to fall under the sway of the darkness. You may return to your desk, Harry."

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It was dark, and he was cold. To make it worse, the grass he was sitting on was damp, and his fire meager. It was the best he could manage without a wand, after all. The moon was covered by the clouds and not a star was in sight. He sighed, deciding that it was time he was on the move. It really was the only safe way for him to travel, after all. He stood and surveyed the area. It was easy to keep on the move. For one thing, he had no possessions, and therefore was not burdened by carrying them.

He stepped towards the trail he had taken in to this wooded area and began to make his way back. There was a town nearby, and his contact he hoped would be there waiting, if she hadn't left the area. There was no guarantee, many years had passed, but since he had nowhere else to go, it was a starting place.

As he walked, he contemplated his next course of action. Of course, what he had done had no precedent, and he knew he was being pursued at that very moment. That was to be expected. But very few people could recognize him on sight, and he had his ways of hiding out. He wouldn't be seen if he didn't want to be.

He came in to view of the village, strafing the outskirts instead of risking the walk through the center of the town. He eventually came to an area that was intensely familiar to him, he had spent the better part of a year living in the very house he was seeking before he had been captured.

And he hadn't gone down easily, no. They had underestimated him, of course, as they always had. But a year's tutelage under some of the greatest wizards and of course the woman who had convinced him to join in the first place granted him powers beyond the meager offerings he had received elsewhere.

He stood idly for a moment, remembering that day. He knew they were coming, how could they not? They would want revenge, his old friends especially. And so he had boarded up the house and set as many traps as possible. But they never raided his home. They couldn't find it. He had been captured while attempting to buy food, having run out under the imaginary siege. And again, it hadn't been easy. From what he heard at the trial, thirteen muggles had been killed in the battle, along with an auror. They'd taken pieces of him as well, but it was of little consequence.

He had been surprised on the day of the verdict. He'd expected to receive the kiss, but they'd given him a reprieve. Maybe the old man's work, but either way, they left him alive, doomed to a lifetime in Azkaban with the Dementors.

And yet here he was. And soon they'd understand the mistake that they had made. They should never have left him alive. For now he was free once more, and he knew what he had to do. Bellatrix had prepared him for this. He spied the old house on the horizon, and noted that it was dimly lit. He smiled to himself, and started off in the direction of the home, transforming as he went.

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"Harry, are you… are you okay?"

The dark haired boy nodded. "Yes, Ron, I'm fine."

"Just worried about you. You should have seen yourself in class today. It was… we were all frightened."

"Don't talk to me about that." Harry snapped. "I don't want to think about it."

Ron sighed and sat back, the two inhabiting one of the various empty classrooms throughout the school.

"You never fully explained to me what happened this summer, Harry."

Harry looked up at the red head. "Do I owe you an explanation?"

"Get off it, you know what I mean. We're friends, at least that was the impression I was under. You got to tell me these things. I mean, who else can you trust? Malfoy?"

Harry snorted. "Hell no. We can tolerate one another, but I certainly don't trust him."

"You damn well better not. You know he'd go to his father with anything important."

Harry nodded. "True enough."

Ron spoke again. "And I can't believe… I can't believe he's free. How the hell does that even happen?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm betting Sirius has an idea."

"Why do you say that?"

"They were best friends, after all. Or at least Sirius thought they were. If he's got any secrets, my godfather will know."

"Have you talked to him?" Ron asked.

"No. He's still treating me like some kind of child. It's really infuriating."

"That sounds… frustrating."

Harry sat roughly. "It is."

"Well hey, Harry, if you come across the bastard, now you've got a pretty interesting spell to fry him with." Ron said lightly.

Harry thought for a moment, quietly. "That's an idea." He said finally.

"Wait, what?"

"You're right."

"I really don't know what I'm right about."

Harry fingered his wand slightly. "We've got to be prepared."

"And by that you mean…"

Harry stood sharply. "I want to keep doing this, that spell. It had more power than anything I've ever used before. Nothing else even comes close."

Ron stood now too. "Harry, you heard what Rosier said. You can't, we can't just start throwing out curses and the dark arts, we'd be expelled!"

"We won't use them, not yet anyway. I just think we should know. And about Rosier, why else would he show me that spell? I think he intends for me to use it. Why else, Ron?"

"Maybe so that you'd understand the dangers inherent with that sort of weapon?"

Harry shook his head. "No, that's not it. It's something more than that. You think a fucker like him will fight fair? No, there's nothing I know now that will help me against a person like him. I've got to know more, I've got to learn more." A momentary pause, and then, "You'll help me, right?"

Ron looked Harry over for a moment. "Why not Malfoy, or Zabini?"

Harry smiled. "As you said, I don't trust them. I do trust you. Help me?"

Ron slowly nodded. "Okay, Harry. I will. But we've got to be careful about this.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

_There's never been a fireworks display on earth that could match the utterly catastrophic symphony of that conflict. _

_It started simply. _

_The air grew heavy as the floors and walls were singed by the flame emanating from the dark wizard's wand. Albus Dumbledore flicked his wand slightly and was covered in a tinted shield that provided him with a cool breeze and did not yield to the heat of the flame batting against it. The flame subsided and Dumbledore cautiously dropped his shield. Grindelwald was standing opposite him, across the dais in the center of the room. A grin flickered across his face. _

"_Just a warm up, Albus, don't fret. I wouldn't give you so slight a challenge."_

"_You are too confident, Gellert. You ought not make that mistake."_

_Dumbledore raised his wand to strike but was an instant too slow, his lance of electricity sliding by Grindelwald as he danced to the side and sent a nasty purple hex back in Albus' direction. _

"_Too slow, old friend."_

"_You seem to feel that your own shortcomings are less ominous, but Gellert, you have not yet managed to damage a single hair on my head. I suggest you try harder."_

_Grindelwald laughed. "Your taunts leave a lot to be desired."_

_Dumbledore's face remained impassive. "In a war of wits, Gellert, we both know who the victor would be."_

_The sandy haired man responded by crying out "Avada Kedavra!" _

_Albus ducked as the jet of sickly green light raced overhead. _

_He stood, fingers curling tightly around his wand, and it seemed the temperature in the room had dropped at least ten degrees. The look on his face suggested that the man was done playing around. He shifted slightly into a stance, readying himself. Across the way, Gellert Grindelwald did the same. _

_A moment passed in silence. _

_And then another._

_Then, without warning, the men began to move in sequence, the battle finally beginning in earnest._

_Albus Dumbledore danced with a fluid grace. His wand was moving at an incomparable speed, batting away incoming curses and returning his own seemingly without a thought. Matching him measure for measure was Grindelwald, his own attempts sacrificing grace for rage, fluidity for power. His overcharged curses struck the shields of Dumbledore like a battering ram; only Dumbledore's incredible ability saved him from curses that would have obliterated a lesser wizard into unrecognizable fragments. _

_Time was meaningless in the moment, each man unaware of anything but the other. At any individual moment it may have seemed like one had the upper hand on the other, but in an instant the pendulum would swing back in the other direction and the equally matched opponents would begin again. _

_Dumbledore smiled inwardly, the longer the battle progressed, the more desperate Gellert would become. He had to be worried that reinforcements would arrive for Albus, and an extra wand against him could certainly tip the scales. He watched as a jet of energy struck the ground in front of him, showering him with debris and damaging the ground upon which he stood. But Dumbledore moved effortlessly, his heightened senses that very few wizards could match allowed him to dodge the shards without difficulty. Grindelwald had not remained still, however, and was already moving forward, rushing directly towards Albus. _

_Albus stood firm and cast an overpowered jet of flame at his onrushing opponent. But the raging man cast a wandless bounding charm on his boots and leapt up and over both the flame and Dumbledore himself, landing adroitly behind him. Albus whirled and pulled the flame around towards Grindelwald's landing point. But he was a moment too slow, and Grindelwald had time to quickly sling a slashing spell from point blank range before he was engulfed with the flame that was still emanating from the man's wand even as he fell to the floor, a gaping wound in his chest. _

_Both men hit the floor gasping. But it was Gellert Grindelwald who managed to stand first, still smoldering, but strong enough to raise his wand with a shadow of the smirk he'd been wearing to start with. _

"_I'm sorry, my friend. I'm sorry it has to end this way. But I'm afraid it must. Goodbye, Albus."_

_And with that, he raised his wand and began to pronounce the dreaded syllables. Albus lay bleeding on the floor, his eyes wide but his body calm, he did not struggle. How could he? The fight was over, and he had lost. His eyes closed softly as he prepared himself for death. _

_But it did not come. The expected obliteration never arrived. Albus looked up to see Grindelwald's eyes close in agony, his wand arm severed at the shoulder and his other desperately attempting to staunch the bleeding. _

_Behind him stood Aberforth Dumbledore, wand in hand, a grim look on his face. "Albus. You're hurt."_

_He could only nod. _

_With a wave of his wand, ropes encircled the fallen dark wizard and bound him tightly. Aberforth stepped lightly past the man and kneeled at the prone form of his brother. He inspected the wound for a moment before muttering a soft incantation. Albus looked down to see the wound slowly begin to close. _

"_You'll survive, brother. You'll need some blood-replenishing potion, but otherwise, you should be alright."_

_Albus nodded weakly. "Thank you –"_

"_Don't." Aberforth interrupted. "Don't thank me. I didn't do this for you. I did it for me."_

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He had never expected he'd be back to Azkaban so quickly, especially not under voluntary circumstances. But, as he scurried along the rocky ground of the island, he thought to himself that it really wasn't voluntary at all. It wasn't as if he had any other options.

The air was dank, the ground was wet, and his fur was slick and matted down. His ears were alert, listening for any sign that he had been detected, but nothing. They still didn't understand how he had escaped, and so they had not adequately defended the prison against his return. Not that they expected it in any case.

The structure of Azkaban itself loomed before him; the dark stone walls cast an ominous shadow along the rocky shores of the small island. He felt nervous – he would be insane if he did not, but there was also a strange confidence. He had done this before. And today he was more equipped, more prepared.

He thought back to the conversation that had lead to this mission with trepidation. Even if he were successful, he truly did not know what his future would entail.

"_Pettigrew. You made it."_

_The harrowed man stood in the doorway of the decrepit building and sighed raggedly. "I did."_

"_Why are you here?" The woman spoke softly._

"_Nowhere else to go. Everyone else has turned their backs."_

_She chuckled lightly. "Not quite, Peter. The world works a little differently today. We've adapted accordingly. Subtlety, that's the game today."_

"_So Lucius…"_

_Her face darkened at the name. "He's still one of us, but I fear he's grown soft. His cushy position of power blinds him, leads him down the road of mediocrity."  
_

"_Will you help me?"_

_She looked over the ratty looking man. "And what do you want?"_

_He looked around nervously. "Shelter, mainly. A place to sleep. Food to eat."_

_The woman thought for a moment, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her right index finger. "And what shall I receive in return?"_

"_I'm here, aren't I? I can help. The dark lord permitted me, found a use for me. I'm certain you can as well."_

"_You're a dead man, Pettigrew. You can't exactly go around in public."_

_He smiled at that. "If I don't want to be found, Bellatrix, I won't be."_

_A moment passed in silence. Pettigrew began to fidget nervously, wondering if maybe he had made a mistake. But the moment passed, and Lestrange smiled wickedly. _

"_I believe, Wormtail, we can make arrangements. I think I need proof, though. Evidence that you really can be useful to me."_

_He cocked his head to the side. "What would you like me to do?"_

_She laughed slowly. "Maybe it is time for a move that's a little more… brazen. Malfoy would say no, but he's indisposed at the moment, so I'm in charge."_

"_What is it?" Peter asked again._

_Bellatrix smiled widely. "You'll be making a little return trip, Peter. To Azkaban Prison."_

"Damn that woman." He thought to himself as he slipped under the front gateway to the prison. The lights were dark, and the entrance hall that led to the warden's office was empty. He smiled inwardly, noting that the prison was still not on full alert. The aurors truly were foolish, he thought to himself.

He scurried down the opposite hallway, the one that led towards the cells deep in the heart of the prison. He could feel the pull of the Dementors as it seeped in to him – he could only withstand it because of his transformation, otherwise, he knew, in minutes he would be on the ground disabled. And so time was of the essence, he knew. Where he was going there wouldn't be human guards, at least not for significant periods of time. Once he became human the Dementors would know he was there, would recognize the extra person, and would likely raise the alarm within moments. Time would be of the essence.

He passed cell after cell, each filled with criminals who were slowly losing their sanity, if it hadn't been lost already. He smiled inwardly. He had spent years in this prison before realizing the mitigating factors of being an animagus. It happened almost by accident – he had been dreaming about his schoolboy days, back with James and Sirius, and when he awoke he had felt so cold, so desperate. He just wanted… something. And so out of nostalgia, maybe, he had transformed. And suddenly the darkness he felt, the omnipresent power of the Dementors, it was muted. And from that day he had started to gain awareness, intention, and had, one non-descript morning, decided that he was going to escape.

And of course, here he was again. He stopped for a moment in front of the all too familiar empty cell before him. A momentary shudder, before he turned and continued on his way. He scanned for his target. He knew the man, had known him during the first war, albeit not well. He hadn't seemed particularly important at the time, and Grindelwald had never relied on him.

But for some reason, Bellatrix wanted him back. And he truly was the only one capable, for while there were those stronger than him, none of the others had such a useful animagus form.

And there he was. The man he was looking for. He gazed through the bars at Henry Davis. Davis had yet to notice him, but that was to be expected. The man was sitting, hands wrapped around his knees, his back against the wall. Pettigrew slipped under the bars and into the cell.

Davis did notice this, eyes widening at the sight of the rat scurrying into his cell. He looked confused at best, out of his mind at worst. Pettigrew looked up for a moment before transforming back into his traditional form. At this Davis really took notice – he managed to get to his feet, tried to back up but his back was already against the wall.

"Pettigrew!" He managed to eke out the name as he stumbled and fell to the ground.

Peter stepped forward quickly and extended his hand, helping the man up. "Davis, don't talk, we don't have the time. I'll explain later."

He could feel the Dementors coming closer, extending their powers. He knew that they didn't have much time. He reached into his robes and withdrew his wand. He made a jarring motion with his wand and the wall facing away from the corridor exploded outwards, creating an opening large enough for them to make it through.

He turned to grab Davis and saw several Dementors congregated around the entrance to the cell. He could also hear voices in the distance, and knew they had to get out of there.

He grabbed Davis' arm and pulled him through into the next cell. Ignoring the cell's occupant, he made quick work of the cell door and jumped out into the new hallway and began the whirlwind trip up towards the surface and freedom.

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"Can't be any worse than Binns. At least she's alive, after all."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I get the feeling none of the other faculty seem all that thrilled at her presence."

Nott nodded as he and Harry entered the History classroom. "I'd noticed the same."

"I guess we'll see for ourselves."

The two sat in a row near the back and waited as the rest of the class filed in. Harry nodded at Malfoy as the blonde boy took a chair in the front alongside Parkinson and Zabini. There was a moment of brief conversation between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw second years before the door to the classroom opened once again and a woman dressed in entirely too much pink from her hat down to her leggings swept in.

The conversation slowed, but did not cease entirely as the woman shuffled some papers on the desk. She was a squat woman with overly styled hair and an abundance of makeup. She looked up suddenly at the class and flashed a smile that did not reassure a single student.

"Good morning class!" She spoke with an upbeat tone.

The class responded with a low murmur, and the woman's face turned quickly into a frown.

She stepped out from behind her desk and leered darkly at the class. "Now that simply will not do, not at all. When I speak to you as a class I expect a response as a class. Let's try again, shall we? Good morning class!"

"Good morning professor." The class droned listlessly.

She clapped her hands together with a smile and took another step forward. Harry himself was perfectly glad to be sitting as far back as he was, he already had no desire to be anywhere near this woman.

"Now, boys and girls, my name is Professor Umbridge." She waved her wand and the chalk began to scratch out the name on the board behind her. She continued as it went.

"We are here to learn the History of Magic. This is a grand and important subject, and I am glad to come on board this faculty at a time when such knowledge is gravely needed. I'm sorry to say that your previous instructor," and here she paused with disdain before continuing, "was sadly not up to par. Fortunately for you all, you are only in your second year, and therefore we have time to rectify this mistake. And so we will start at the beginning, ignoring for the moment the goblin rebellion's I'm certain you're tired of hearing about my now."

She smiled, and Harry found himself slightly more open to her. He was certainly content to no longer have to deal with Binns droning on about the subject. He leaned forward slightly, curious to hear what it was they would actually be studying.

"We could start way back, back at the beginning, at the founding of Hogwarts, with the legends regarding the founders themselves. This is absolutely essential knowledge that you will learn at some point during your tenure here. But instead, I along with your Headmaster have decided that it would be the more beneficial, more prescient, more useful for you all to start with something a bit more recent. Something you're certain to know about, but too young to truly remember. We will learn about the rise and fall of the greatest dark lord in several centuries, one who managed to find his way to power within the framework of the very democracy we cherish, one whose power was broken by a young child in this very class. I speak, of course, of the wizard Gellert Grindelwald."

All eyes in the class turned to Harry, who flattened his bangs across his scar as his face began to turn red. Umbridge began to speak again, clearly ignoring the change in attentions, and within moments the class had turned back to her.

"We begin with the basics. The Dark Lord Grindelwald was born in the year 1883, in an unknown European country to the east. He was educated at the Durmstrang Institute, and was expelled in the year 1899 at the age of sixteen for dallying in forbidden dark magic. This we know for sure. We also know that he came to the shores of England soon after and established residency in Godric's Hollow, where he met the young Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of this institution.

The two became fast friends despite young Gellert's more than passing interest in the Dark Arts. Through Albus' connections forged while a student in this very school, the two quickly made their mark, working as alchemists and researchers along with the famed Nicolas Flamel, although Dumbledore was eventually given the most credit regarding the eventual discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood.

As you should all know, Grindelwald was _elected_ to the post of Mister of Magic by the British population in 1927. It should also be generally known that he fell from power, thanks again to Dumbledore, two years later, in 1929."

She turned and walked back to her desk and tapped her wand on a sheet of paper twice. It instantly appeared at the desk of each student.

"Your assignment for the next two weeks will be to research this time period, the two years of Grindelwald's reign as minister of magic. I would like you all to write me three feet of parchment on the subject, detailing how exactly he came to power and discussing possible warning signs that may have been missed prior to his ousting, which must also be a subject of this assignment. You will have time and resources during this class period to pursue your work, so there will be no excuses for those who do not finish their assignment on time. So your time for the project begins now!"

Umbridge clapped her hands and Harry, along with the other students, rushed to the shelves of books lining the classroom eager to get started. Umbridge, watching the students, allowed herself a tight smile before turning back to her desk and the papers that needed her immediate attention.

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"_Flammasectum_!"

Harry's voice blended with the burst of cursed flame that rushed from his wand and obliterated the target created by the Room Requirement. Ron looked up from the tattered book in his hands, mouth agape as the incineration continued at an intrepid rate. Harry pulled his wand back and the fire slowly burned away.

"Well we know you've got that one down pat."

Harry nodded, beads of sweat dripping from his face. Ron continued. "It'll be a nasty shock for anyone who takes you too lightly, that's for sure."

Harry sat down heavily next to Ron. "Really takes something out of you, though. I'm tired after a single spell. That can't continue."

Ron sighed. "Harry, we're second years. We're way too young for this sort of thing, you can't expect to just waltz in and become an expert. It'll take time."

Harry growled in frustration. "I don't have time."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Of course you do. You aren't going to run out and confront Pettigrew today, or tomorrow, or even in a year. He'd wipe the floor with you. You know that, he's got years of experience. All we can do is hope to improve."

Harry waited for a moment before speaking. "You want to give it a go, Ron?"

He looked around nervously for a moment. "I just get the feeling that my father wouldn't like this at all. My mum would skin me alive, that's certain."

"We talked about this, Ron. We can't worry about things like that, we haven't the time and some things are just more important. He betrayed my family, who's to say the same thing couldn't happen to yours?"

Ron looked away. "That's a low blow, Harry."

"Only because it is true. They're out there, you know it, I know it firsthand. We've got to be prepared, and the only way to fight them is to know what they're going to do, understand their magic."

Ron nodded slowly. "I know it, Harry, I do. It's just, I'm a bit frightened."

Harry sat back. "I understand, Ron. Nothing will happen, not yet. You know the incantation."

Ron stood shakily, rolling his wand through his fingers. "I do."

He took his place before the newly created target. He brandished his wand in front of him, and managed to eke out the incantation. "_Flammasectum_!"

The rolling fire that emerged wasn't so hot as blaze created by Harry, but was still powerful enough to render the target unrecognizable, a blast that would certainly have flayed the flesh of a human unfortunate enough to be targeted.

"Did you feel it?" Harry asked softly.

Ron just looked in wonder at his wand. "There's so much… so much power."

"I felt the same thing. And it isn't an illusion. But at the same time, we know that this power corrupts. That's what Rosier's been telling us. The power is awesome and a rush but it will corrupt, it will beget itself again and again. We've got to be careful."

Ron nodded. "Of course, but still. I mean, I could…"

Harry smiled lightly. "Yes, you could. And there's nobody who could stop you. Not if you really master this."

Ron turned to look at Harry. "What else do you know?"

Harry went to the book Ron had been flipping through earlier. "I'd read of a couple of others, but I haven't tried any of them yet. We'll still have to see if we're capable of any of them yet."

Ron grabbed the book and pointed to the page. "What about this one?"

Harry read. "The Piercing Curse. From the description seems less… damaging."

Ron agreed. "On a large scale, true, but it still could be useful, pierces armor, walls, even a person."

Harry nodded. "Well give it a try, if you want."

Ron grinned lightly. The room had conjured up another target, this one made of stone, and Ron took careful aim. "_Percutio_!" he cried, and the jet of light pierced the stone and continued on to the wall of the room, where it was absorbed with the sound of a shot.

Harry smiled. "Well done, Ron."

His smile slipped away as he heard the thud of a door closing behind him. Ron's face turned white, and Harry turned around to see a very displeased seeming Tom Riddle, Headmaster of Hogwarts, standing before him. A moment passed in silence as Riddle surveyed the scene, the book, and the demolished targets.

"Well well, Harry. It seems we need to have a talk."

And Harry cringed.

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Thanks a bunch for reading, if ya feel like it, go ahead and leave a review. If ya feel like flaming, that's fine, just let me know what you think.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Smoke was billowing through the air as people fled their homes and their business, the massive fire threatening to encroach and take more than just their livelihoods. The street itself was cracked and broken, unrecognizable through the disorienting haze. There were shouts of anguish, cries of pain, and the unmistakable screams of a man being tortured to insanity by the Cruciatus Curse.

Bellatrix Lestrange laughed wickedly as the hub of wizarding London, Diagon Alley, burned helplessly to the ground. A man shouted and sent a stunning spell towards her, but she simply batted it away. With a raised eyebrow and a wave of her wand, she wrenched the man from the ground and tossed his screaming form into the flames.

It had been distressingly simple. The two groups of Death Eaters had simply apparated to opposite ends of the Alley, and marched to the center in a decidedly destructive fashion. There had been minimal resistance, these were times of peace and the people had no reason to expect such an attack, no reason to be ready to defend themselves.

She paused for a moment to deal with one of the aurors who had naturally been sent to resist the attack. She smiled and raised her wand, but the young man parried her first spell and returned with an overpowered bludgeoning hex that she barely managed to shield. Bellatrix snarled and the young man allowed himself a bit of a smile. But it only lasted for a moment as he was forced to jump out of the way of the killing curse Lestrange sent in his direction. The wind carried the smoke from the flames in their direction, and through the haze the man sent a volley of hexes in her direction. Before she could respond, a voice shouted through the debris.

"Fawcett! Fawcett, where the hell are you?"

Bellatrix whirled, the incantation for a killing curse instinctively forming on her lips as she turned. Nymphadora Tonks stumbled groggily out of the flames just in time to be greeted with Lestrange's curse, and she crumpled to the ground without another sound.

But the moment she spent on the now fallen girl left her vulnerable, and Fawcett, with a scream, struck her in the side with a blast from his wand and Lestrange hit to the ground face first alongside the body of her fallen cousin, her wand clattering to the side.

Fawcett did not let up. He pounced on Lestrange and put a knee in her back. "You killed her! I should fucking kill you, how could you do that? You killed her!" It was clear the young man was in a rage, tears were streaming from his face as he shouted. He pointed his wand directly at the back of her head. "Tell me why I shouldn't end you right now."

Bellatrix let out a soft chuckle. "I've no defense; you might as well finish me now, save me the hassle of a trial."

He swore softly. "Jesus. You killed her. I can't believe you did that."

"Just get it over with."

Fawcett grabbed the back of her head and smashed her face into the rough and broken pavement. "You," he shouted, "just shut up. Just shut up!"

Through the blood of a broken nose and teeth Lestrange laughed. "You really ought to grow up, little man. This is the way the world works. You're an auror, after all. You'd think you'd understand that by now."

The tears falling from his face mingled with the singed and bloody trails on the ground as he gazed despairingly at the body of his fallen partner.

"You killed her," he whispered softly, "you killed her."

"When you kill me, you'll understand why. There's this rush, you're going to love it."

He pushed her face into the ground one more time. "Fuck you. I'm not like that. I'm not like you."

"So you're going to let me get away with what I've done?"

"You _won't_ get away." He snarled.

And again Bellatrix chuckled. "You're so sure of that?"

He nodded harshly. "Yes. I am. I won't allow it."

She chuckled. "Well then, you'd really better work on your technique."

With the flick of her wrist her fallen wand flew back into her hand and she immediately used it to throw the auror trainee off of her. He cast a cutting curse as quickly as he could, but Bellatrix was too fast and was already on her feet and ready.

She laughed heartily. "You're such a fool, auror. You've got to grow some spine! It's a lesson you'll have to learn the hard way, I suppose."

With another laugh, she slashed her wand and purple jet sliced towards Fawcett. He ducked and conjured a spear which he sent hurdling through the air back towards Lestrange.

She laughed in delight, vanishing the spear with a wave. "Ooh, good, you're getting serious! I suppose I really ought to get serious then too."

Her smile turned dark and she adopted a more traditional dueling stance, rather than her typical laze.

"Bring it," he growled angrily.

"You're funeral."

He responded with a burst of tightly coiled flame which lanced out at Bellatrix. She grimaced and pulled a shield tight around her body. The flames licked up against it, she could feel the heat, but was not hurt. The flames faded and she dropped her shield.

"You've got some skills, granted. But you're going to need a lot more than that. _Crucio!_"

And Fawcett, too slow to avoid the unforgivable, fell to the ground wracked in pain. Lestrange smiled as the maintained the connection. His body seized, his jaw clenched tight, his fingernails gouging into his wrists.

"This, boy, is what _true_ pain feels like. Death is nothing in comparison. You'd do well to remember that."

And with that she released the curse. "You felt it. You'll never forget."

His supine form relaxed on the ground, the tears now coming from pain, not grief. She smiled one more time before she turned her back on him.

"Goodbye little man. For now."

And Bellatrix Lestrange walked away, leaving a demolished Diagon Alley in her wake.

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Harry found himself in a plush armchair, seated across from the headmaster who had taken an identical chair himself. Ron had been dismissed from the room with a glance, and Harry now sat alone with his professor, his tutor.

Riddle gazed at him for several moments without speaking, seemingly evaluating his words carefully in his mind. Harry decided it would be in his best interests not to speak unless spoken to in this instance, and so an uncomfortable silence washed over the two.

But when Riddle finally spoke, it was not what Harry expected.

"You're work is really quite impressive, Harry. Especially for your age."

"Sir?"

He sighed softly. "I must admit, Harry, that I see much of you in myself. Or rather, I remember myself at your age and see many similarities."

He grew quiet once more, and Harry waited silently.

"Where did you learn, Harry?"

Harry swallowed. "From Professor Rosier, sir. At least at first. He introduced the class, asked me to cast one spell. From there, I've been on my own."

"Remarkable," Riddle mused softly, "but of course, Harry, you must understand the dangers. You must understand my concern."

Harry nodded. "Of course, sir, I understand. I have concerns myself."

"And yet," Riddle spoke softly, "I cannot punish you, for you are no guiltier than I. As I was taught, the power, it truly is… intoxicating."

Harry looked up. "That's exactly what Rosier said."

Riddle looked at him sharply. "Did he? Those words exactly?"

"Exactly."

Riddle looked away. "Fascinating."

"Professor, I know I shouldn't be practicing this on my own, and I know that this sort of magic is dangerous –"

"Are you dissatisfied, Harry, with my tutoring?"

Harry shook his head vigorously. "Not at all! It's just that I have time on my own, and there are some things that you weren't teaching me. Not that I'd expect you to, of course, you're the Headmaster! You've got more priorities than just teaching a single student."

Riddle laughed softly. "Harry, you are _very_ high on my list of priorities. You must know that."

Harry smiled at this. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

Riddle made a decision, then, and stood.

"Come with me, Harry. I want to show you something."

He stepped to the door. "It's something of a key, to my past, and to that of this castle. I think you should see it."

Harry nodded and stood behind him. But the second Riddle opened to door to the hallway, he was bombarded by an owl holding a letter.

"One moment, Harry."

He quickly slit open the seal with a fingernail and removed the letter inside. He quickly scanned the contents, his face growing more alarmed by the moment.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he spoke quickly, "but there's no time. I must go, I'm afraid, so we'll have to postpone this for the short term. I apologize, Harry, but I'm sure you'll know what's going on soon enough."

And with that, Riddle strode off in the direction of his office, leaving a very confused Harry Potter behind.

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DIAGON ALLEY: ATTACKED! MINISTER MALFOY TO TAKE EMERGENCY POWERS

The bold letters jumped from the page as Harry read them, Zabini looking over his shoulder. Blaise swore under his breath as he read the article.

"Jesus, Potter. This is heavy stuff."

Harry nodded. "This is what Riddle had to deal with, I'm certain."

Zabini looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

Harry shrugged. "I was talking with Riddle last evening, and he had to leave in a hurry. I'm certain it was about this."

Nott looked over at them from his plate, where he was eating with a somewhat nonchalant attitude.

"Does it say who it was? Who attacked?"

Harry shook his head. "They don't know the organization. But they did apparently spot Bellatrix Lestrange and apparently someone named Henry Davis. Malfoy's giving a speech later today; I bet we'll know more then."

At the name, Draco looked up. Harry saw this and gave him a glance.

"You know anything about this, Malfoy?

He raised an eyebrow. "You think my father would tell me?"

"Suppose not. Worth a try, anyway."

Zabini nodded. "So what do you think 'emergency powers' means?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find out."

Just then the conversation was interrupted by a shout and the sounds of a scuffle. Harry turned and looked over only to see a third year Gryffindor boy he did not know being restrained by his friends, his ire aimed directly at Tracey Davis.

Nott and Zabini both stood and made their way across the hall, Harry stood and followed suit. As he arrived, he could hear the boy's words clearly.

"They're dead, you bitch! It's because of your father and his fucking friends that my sister was killed!"

Harry put his hand on Nott's shoulder. "What's he talking about?"

Nott looked back at him as Zabini walked right up to the Gryffindor boy. "You can't tell me you didn't know. Are you serious?"

Harry shook his head. "What's going on?"

Nott looked him up and down for a moment. "You read his name yourself. Her father is Henry Davis. He was a member of Grindelwald's army. Vanished after you took down the Dark Lord, never heard from again until now, apparently. You really didn't know that?"

Harry sighed. "No. She never told me. Might explain her hatred, though."

"She doesn't hate you."

Harry turned to look at Davis, who was standing with her back mostly to the boy who was berating her. Zabini seemed to be attempting to calm him down, but it apparently wasn't working.

Harry realized that he was just standing awkwardly in the center of the hall, and while most eyes were on Tracey, a few people were eying him oddly. He tugged at Nott's sleeve.

"Come on; let's get back to the table."

Nott shook him off. "Let's see what happens."

Harry grabbed him again. "Snape's coming, come on!"

And the two reluctantly hurried back to the Slytherin table just in time to avoid Snape's wrath.

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"Come, Harry, don't be frightened."

Harry took a few halting steps towards his mentor. Upon seeing Harry walk, Riddle turned and continued at a brisk pace. They strode in silence further and further down, deeper in to the subterranean chamber through a series of winding corridors that had clearly not seen use in generations. Harry dared not ask any questions, but he could feel the air growing more and more stale, the ground below his feet growing softer and wetter by the meter.

As they traveled through the twists and turns of the narrow passageway, Harry couldn't help but be concerned. He knew rationally that Riddle wouldn't allow him to suffer any harm, but at the same time, this felt like treading on ancient ground. Who knew what this road ahead held?

Riddle stopped, and Harry looked up from his feet and his thoughts.

He found himself in the mouth of a sprawling, cave like room, filled lit by several floating lamps that shone through the dank air. Riddle stood several paces in front of him in profile, his face betraying several emotions that Harry could decipher; excitement and longing included.

The room _was_ grand though, despite the mustiness of it all. Pillars lined the walls of the room, great serpents riding up their spines. Erected at the very end of the room was a large statue of founder of Harry's house himself, Salazar Slytherin. Harry looked to Riddle, curious eyes gleaming. Riddle himself smiled widely.

"Harry Potter. Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry's eyebrows rose. He'd heard the rumors, everyone in Slytherin had. But he'd dismissed them as fantasy. Of course the Slytherin students would want to believe that their founder was the greatest, the only to leave a real piece of himself inside the very walls of the school. But here he was. And he could no longer dismiss the rumors as hearsay.

"You've heard the stories, I assume?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir, I have."

"Then you understand the significance of our entry into this realm."

Harry nodded again. "Sir, you must be the heir of Slytherin. That's the only way."

Riddle smiled widely. "You're quite correct, Harry. I am indeed Slytherin's heir. Through my mother's side, and although I never knew her, I owe her a debt of gratitude."

Harry looked around, suddenly remembering the other elements of the rumors bandied about. Riddle, noticing the nervousness that flashed across Harry's face, spoke swiftly to remove any fear.

"Not to worry, Harry. The mythical 'monster' can only be controlled by an heir. And I am here with you. I promise, no harm will come to you."

Harry spoke softly. "What is it? The monster, I mean."

"I'll do you one better, Harry. I'll show you."

He turned and spoke in a guttural hiss, a language Harry could not hope to understand. As he did so, Harry watched in fascination as the mouth of the statue began to open, revealing a dark passageway behind.

"Close your eyes, if you will, Harry. Just to be certain."

Harry swallowed hard and shut his eyes tight, slightly dreading the moment to come. He heard a great rustle and scraping against the floor. The sounds moved closer with every passing moment. Within seconds, though, the sounds came dwindled into silence, the only sound the echoing heavy breaths of the creature that now lay in front of him. There was more hissing from Riddle, before he turned away from the beast and spoke.

"You may open your eyes."

Harry did without much haste. What he saw before him was astonishing.

"A basilisk?" Harry managed to stutter out.

"Indeed. The king of serpents, Harry. One of the most majestic and regal creatures ever to inhabit our world. You know, of course, that Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth. What better, then, to guard his chamber?"

"Sir," Harry spoke nervously, "this is a school, is it not? How is this… safe?"

Riddle's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Safe? I suppose in any conventional sense, it isn't at all safe. But this is the world we inhabit. Any student in this school could easily kill a man, all first years are taught spells sufficient for that task. So while this beauty is certainly dangerous, there's no danger to the school's population. It only responds to the heir, and I have no desire to cause harm to the inhabitants of this school."

Harry nodded slowly. "But why are you showing me this, sir? I'm not the heir of Slytherin, I have no right to be here."

Riddle looked over Harry slowly before responding. "This chamber was built over a thousand years ago. It was, at the time of inception, used for many things. This was where Salazar Slytherin turned when the times were too difficult, when he needed a place to think, a place to work. Contrary to myth, the chamber does not exist for the sake of destruction. It does not exist for the killing of Hogwarts' students. Even Salazar, who did indeed disagree with the training of muggleborn students, knew that the halls of the school must be revered, protected, left as untainted as possible. He was not so amoral to believe that students deserved to be killed as a result of their birth. He did not believe they belonged in this world, but once they entered, it became their world as well, and they could not be removed. He understood this."

"So why is the basilisk here? What other purpose could it have?"

Riddle looked at him seriously. "Protection. There may come a time that the walls of this school fall under duress, it's happened before. In the unlikely event of a battle, the last line of defense lies in this very chamber, waiting."

"And they'd never expect it, because nobody knows."

"Precisely, Harry."

Harry thought for a moment. "You said Slytherin worked in this chamber. Trained in this chamber. Why here? Why not a place like the Room of Requirement?"

"Firstly, Harry, that room was known to all the founders, and could not provide him with the safe haven he was looking for. But further than that, Harry, there's something here. The feeling may be greater even now than it was when Slytherin created the chamber, but either way. There's a power here, there's weight to the air, the thousand students above us, those who have come before, and they all leave an imprint. It can't be seen, but down here the weight of those years can truly be felt."

Harry looked around slowly. "What does that mean, sir? Practically?"

Riddle spoke softly. "It may be different for others, I don't know. I've never brought another soul down here, I can't be certain it will be the same for you. But there's something here, even when I was young, not much older than you. I could feel in tune with my magic. Feel the impact of my spells, the reactions of my potions were heightened, in some ways, I can't be more specific than that. Another thing – I would like to you try something."

Harry heard as Riddle hissed in parseltongue, and the King of Serpents returned to its hiding place, waiting.

"Sir?" Harry asked tentatively.

As the snake vanished through the mouth of Salazar, Riddle smiled a wicked, brilliant smile.

"Now, Harry," he spoke with excitement, "we will begin your _real _training."

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"You wanted to see me, Bellatrix?"

The woman nodded slightly. "I did, Wormtail."

"What's this about?"

Bellatrix reclined slowly in the decrepit old armchair that adorned the old living room of their seemingly abandoned hideout.

"I have a job for you. A way for you to prove yourself."

Pettirgrew's face grew white. "I already did, Lestrange. I rescued Davis, after all."

She nodded. "You did, and that was something. But you've been useless for eleven long years, Wormtail. You've got to do more than that to make up for lost time."

"I was in Azkaban!" The sallow man screeched.

Lestrange spoke sharply. "And whose fault was that?"

"I'm saying you can't blame me…"

Bellatrix slapped him across the face. "Don't tell me what I can't do, Pettigrew. You've got to understand your place here. If I give you a mission, a job, you say thank you. You don't complain, you don't quibble. Understand?"

Peter composed himself for a moment before daring to speak. When he did, his voice appeared raspy, almost as if even he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"And who put you in charge, Bellatrix? Lord Grindelwald…"

She interrupted fiercely. "Don't you dare speak his name! And you think you're fit for command, is that it?" Bellatrix laughed derisively.

Peter shook his head and mumbled, "Not me, but Lucius, perhaps…"

Another laugh from Lestrange. "Lucius? He's nothing more than a figurehead with aspirations for higher things. He's no leader, despite how he fancies himself. He does what I tell him to. You can go to him if you want, crawl on hands and knees, and ask him to lead you. But he'll send you right back to me. Because in reality, he is frightened of command. I am the glue that holds us together. Know that, Peter, because I am far more valuable to our cause than you. And that makes you vulnerable."

Peter thought for a moment, before making an impassioned speech himself.

"You play these games of power, Bellatrix. Is that all this is to you? A game? Because I've thrown away my life, my livelihood, my friends, I've given everything for this cause, for our lord. And he failed. Say what you will, Lestrange, but you are no dark lord. You don't command the same respect, you don't have the same power. You could not stand before Dumbledore and hope to survive. You may lead us today, but we cannot hope to truly end victorious if we do not find another leader, one more powerful, one who can truly stand for what we believe in. Do not fool yourself, Bellatrix. That is not you."

Lestrange looked outraged for a moment, before managing to cool her temper. He face went blank as she spoke. "Then how, Peter, do you account for our success to this day? You've been catching up with the times, how say you? We've come further than we'd ever dreamed in your absence."

Peter shook his head slowly. "Don't you understand? I have done my research, and do you want to know why you've succeeded to this point?"

Lestrange snorted, but did not respond. Peter continued.

"You have made it so far because Albus Dumbledore has not yet fought back. He is biding his time, waiting for the right moment. And when that moment comes, we won't have a chance in hell. Not one of us can stand against him. And so we will fall."

Lestrange sat back for a moment. "Why stay then, Peter. Why are you here, if we are so doomed?"

He shook his head lightly. "I have nowhere else to go. The world is not a safe place for me."

The ghost of a smile returned to her face. "In that case, Peter, I think you're in a bind. You've no choice but to follow my orders. Otherwise you face almost certain death, or at least Azkaban."

Peter nodded slowly. "Why do you think I'm still here?"

And now Lestrange flashed him a real smile. "Good. Then, as I said before, I've got another job for you."

Peter looked around nervously. "What is it?"

Bellatrix waited for a moment before responding. "I want you to finish what you started, Peter. It was your betrayal that started the chain of events leading to our master's downfall. I want you to rectify that mistake. Peter Pettigrew, I want you to kill Harry Potter."

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Thanks for reading! Review and all that shit if you feel like it.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

"We really shouldn't be here. Whatever we were told, this is too risky. We'll be caught; we don't know what other protections Malfoy's put up." Sirius' voice was soft, but harsh.

Moody quieted him with a wave, not looking up from the paper he held in his hand. He muttered under his breath for a moment, before taping his wand on the large gate that joined the two massive defensive walls that encircled the Malfoy's property. A wave of blue emenated from the tip of his wand and splayed out in all directions, running across the dome of protection that had appeared.

"What is it?" Sirius whispered.

Moody snorted. "Wards, of course. You know that."

Sirius shook his head. "Not exactly what I meant. What is it on that paper that makes you think you could get past this?"

Moody did not look at Sirius as he responded. "All of the traditional wardings are kept on file at the ministry. I happened to call in a few favors, maybe coerced a secretary or two. These are the wards that were done by the ministry at some point on this property."

"So they shouldn't be a problem."

Moody grunted. "It will still take some time. And as you noted, we don't know of any… personal modifications Malfoy might have made. Or an ancestor. We can't be too careful here."

"I still don't understand why it is we're here. This is hardly Dumbledore's way of working."

Moody smiled lightly, which looked ghastly on his scarred face. "If you keep doing what you've always done, you'll keep getting the same results. Dumbledore's come to realize that. I say he should have years ago, but either way… we've been passive for too long. Time to be proactive.

Sirius jumped and spun around, wand clasped tightly in his hand. "What was that?" he whispered hurriedly.

Moody did look up. "What did you hear?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Could have been something moving."

Moody scanned the forest that brushed up against the property. "I don't see anything unusual. But stay on your guard."

Sirius nodded, and Moody got back to work.

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Lucius Malfoy spotted the sitting form of his potential apprentice and hurried over. He'd heard of the… unfortunate situation that had taken place at Diagon Alley. It was partially his idea, and he'd commanded to Bellatrix that Fawcett remain untouched. And so naturally, in her way, she'd done as she was told, but still managed to cause the boy significant damage. He swore under his breath as he reached the boy, seated on a bench outside of the entrance to the auror's wing of the ministry.

His head was down, buried in his hands, and he appeared to have not noticed Lucius' swift approach. With a soft sigh, Malfoy lightly took the seat next to the grieving man.

"I'm sorry," he said haltingly without looking up, "but could you please find a seat elsewhere? I'd like to be alone at the moment."

Lucius responded slowly. "Well if you were hoping for that I've fear you've chosen the wrong place. Why did you come in today, David?"

Fawcett looked up suddenly. "Minister! I'm so sorry for my rudeness, I…"

Malfoy put a hand on his shoulder. "No need to apologize, for I was the one intruding. We were all saddened to hear of the passing of your fellow trainee. At the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, no less."

"I… I couldn't do anything to save her. It happened so quickly, there was just, there was no time."

Lucius sat back and sighed. "I reviewed the memory you were kind enough to leave for our perusal. You did nothing wrong at all, in fact, you fought Lestrange much to a standstill. It is a testament to your abilities that you are standing here now."

Fawcett shook his head. "But she let me go. She could have killed me. She did kill Tonks. Why her, and not me? What's so special?"

Lucius took the Fawcett by his shoulders and forced him to face him directly. "That is Bellatrix Lestrange's objective. She does not always kill everyone, in fact, it is a specialty of hers to kill one partner and let the other live. She's done it to auror pairs before. It is a tactic meant to inspire fear and crush motivation, to cause inner turmoil and weaken you and the department as a result. Lestrange thrives off of pain, both physical and mental. She is a sadistic woman with no sense of morality or conscience. You cannot allow her to end victorious, you can't allow her actions, her decisions, to influence the way you view yourself and the world."

"You became an auror for a reason, did you not? To protect the world at large from people like her. To protect the world and those less capable from monsters like Bellatrix Lestrange. You have that capability, you are a strong enough person with enough talent to be a major factor in ridding the world of her kind of threat. And so I beg you, David, to keep fighting. Grieve for young Tonks, for you must. I shall as well, to the degree that my position allows me. But do not forget her sacrifice, and the fact that it is not your fault but that of Lestrange that Tonks has passed. You did everything you could, and you will continue to do everything you can to protect our world. And for that, I cannot thank you enough."

Now Fawcett's eyes were shining, tears threatening to escape their prison. "I… I don't know what to say."

Malfoy stood and pulled the auror trainee to his feet. "You shouldn't be in to work tonight in the first place, you don't deserve a night shift after an event like that. Who told you to come in?"

"Rufus told me I could have the week off, but I felt so useless. I thought it might be better if…"

Malfoy shook his head. "No. While I understand your feelings, you must allow yourself some time. You live alone?"

Fawcett nodded.

"In that case, I certainly don't want to send you back there. It does not do to wallow by one's self."

Fawcett turned a bit red in the face. "Sir, I'll be okay. I can handle it."

Malfoy thought for a moment before responding. "I have no doubt that you can, but I do not want you to have to. You will come spend the evening at my manor. It would be well for Narcissa to have another young man to pamper. After all, our son Draco is currently at Hogwarts, and my wife is always looking to provide."

"I could not dare infringe upon your hospitality."

Malfoy took him lightly by the arm once more. "And yet I insist, David. Come. I'll apparate you to the gates, so that you may see the manor in its glory. It really is quite a sight, when the windows and lamps are lit, really, the only sight greater is that of Hogwarts at night from across the lake. I'm certain you remember your first glimpse."

He nodded. "I do, sir."

"And you will never forget it. Come."

And with that, he apparated Fawcett to the gates of Malfoy Manor.

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Sirius was holding on to his wand tightly, his back to Moody, who hadn't seemed to make any progress for the last half hour.

"Come on, Moody. I do not like this; we shouldn't be here for so long. We're not even inside yet, and we don't know what we're looking for."

Moody grumbled. "Never knew you were such a pessimist, Black."

Sirius responded, "Just tend to have a thing for self preservation."

"Well then you'll be plenty pleased." Moody made a complicated gesture with his wand and the dome that had been visible under duress seemed to fizzle out. "I think I've got this."

Sirius nodded. "Try the gate, then."

Moody waved his wand and the gate unlatched itself and sprang open.

"Prefect," Sirius whispered, "disillusionment then?"

Moody nodded, and the two applied the charms to themselves and moved slowly on to the grounds. As they just made it inside, they heard the crack of apparition

Sirius dove to the side, attempting to hide himself behind the wall as Moody simply went absolutely still, hoping the disillusionment charm would do its job.

And both went silent, listening, trying to figure out just how much trouble they were in. Two voices could be heard, speaking. One Sirius recognized as Lucius, the other was unfamiliar to him.

They were chattering relatively aimlessly until the footsteps stopped.

"What's wrong?"

And Lucius Malfoy's response chilled Sirius to the bone. "Somebody's here."

The younger voice stopped and spoke haltingly. "How do you know?"

Malfoy took several steps forward, and Sirius could actually see the man at the gate, almost staring directly at Mad-Eye. And there was nothing the grizzled auror could do. If he moved, he would be noticed. He just had to stand, wait, and hope.

"My wards have been tampered with."

The boy stepped into the clearing as well. Sirius thought he looked familiar, but wasn't certain.

"What happened? Are the wards down entirely?"

Malfoy nodded. "They've been dismantled. Expertly, it must have taken time. Be on your guard, our enemy could still be close."

Sirius almost snorted. Malfoy had no idea how correct he truly was. Or maybe he did.

Malfoy waved his wand and spoke, "_Finite_."

And Moody suddenly became visible directly in front of the Minister.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Moody shouted, and the jet of red shot towards Lucius' surprised face.

The spell was intercepted by a shield that was hastily cast by Lucius' companion. Lucius immediately fired back on his own, sending a bludgeoning hex at the now revealed Moody.

The old auror dove to the side and Sirius knew he had to do something. Moody was good, but so was Malfoy, and he was not alone.

He watched as a blasting curse was issued from the wand of Malfoy's companion and, with a burst of speed, Sirius jumped in front of the curse and blocked it just in the nick of time. Moody had already recovered and sent a jet of flame spiraling towards the minister.

"We've got to get out of here!" Sirius shouted, and Moody nodded.

Lucius spoke then as he doused the dangerous flames with a flick from his wand. "Sirius Black and Alastor Moody. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he smiled with these words, but it did not reach his eyes.

Sirius glanced at Moody. Rather than respond, Moody simply took a defensive stance facing the two. Black mirrored his action, face grim. Lucius laughed softly.

"I'd call for the aurors, but I'm afraid that you're already here. I'll ask one more time. What are you doing here?"

Moody responded with a grimace. "We know what you're up to, Malfoy. Just looking for specifics."

Lucius exchanged incredulous looks with his companion, who Sirius finally recognized as the auror trainee David Fawcett. "It seems, Mad-Eye, that your paranoia has finally gotten the best of you. And you've dragged a fine auror down with you. Lay down your wand, Black, and I'll ensure that you don't suffer any ill effects as a result of this… transgression. I'm afraid, Moody, that I can't be so lenient with you."

Alastor Moody cracked a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He brandished his wand and with a snap, a conjured set of knives went streaking towards the minister's extremities. He managed to dive out of the way, but was met in the side with a blasting curse from Sirius that sent Malfoy flying. Fawcett immediately came to the minister's defense, and with a snarl conjured two walls of flame, one behind the two interlopers and the other in front. With another wave the two walls smashed together, where Black and Moody had been only a second before.

But Sirius had managed to levitate himself quickly over the flames and landed close enough to the young man to simply punch him in the face. Fawcett sputtered backwards, giving Sirius a moment to incarcerate him with a pair of conjured ropes.

In the meantime, Moody had apparated behind where Lucius Malfoy was standing. Malfoy turned with a snarl, but was too slow to defend himself from the old auror's piercing curse that speared him through the shoulder, drawing blood. Malfoy staggered for a moment but managed to drop to his to avoid the second, more deadly seeming curse from Moody.

Sirius snatched the wand from Fawcett and turned just in time to see Malfoy, from his knees at close range, shout out,

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

And the green light washed over Moody as he fell to the ground, a look of grim determination etched upon his face for all time.

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As Harry sat in the back row if his defense classroom, he found it difficult to care what Rosier had to say. He listened vaguely as the man demonstrated a simple shield of the _protego _variety (although while he admitted shields had their uses, he had learned all this and more with Riddle).

He had found this issue to be a common thread, especially throughout his defense and transfiguration classes. While he had obviously learned a great deal from his professor at the start of the term, the work he had been doing with Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets far outweighed what he could learn in a typical classroom setting such as this.

He sat further back in his chair and watched listlessly as Malfoy demonstrated the shield against the weak stinging hex sent by Blaise. Rosier clapped Draco on the shoulder and the blond boy looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. Harry snorted softly to himself.

Although apparently not softly enough, for Rosier's head snapped in Harry's direction and his eyes appeared to be trying to blaze a whole through Harry's forehead. He spoke with disdain.

"You find something funny, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all, sir."

Rosier held his gaze for a moment, before turning away, leaving Harry to settle back in to his general malaise.

The rest of the class passed in much the same way, but when the bell rang, Rosier called out from behind his desk,

"A word, if you will, Harry."

Harry finished packing his books and stepped hesitantly to the front of the classroom.

"Yes, professor?"

"What's happened, Potter?"

Harry cocked his head to the side. "I'm not sure I understand the question, sir."

Rosier sighed and sat down at his desk. "You used to be quite lively in this class, especially after the demonstration on your first day those several months back. But recently you're attention seems to have waned."

"Has my performance done the same?" Harry asked quickly.

Rosier shook his head. "You know the answer to that, Mr. Potter. Your grades are fine, well above average. I'm just concerned that the enthusiasm you used to show has faded away. I would like to know the cause."

Harry paused for a moment. He couldn't explain about Riddle and the Chamber; he knew that was supposed to be a secret. And so he thought of the next best excuse.

"I'm tired of being at the center of attention, sir. Every time I would volunteer to demonstrate or try particularly hard, I'd get stares and far too much notice."

Rosier nodded. "But this should not bother you. The stares are of admiration, incredulity. These are hardly negative attributes to be displaying."

Harry shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he spoke, more agitated now as he began to believe his own tale. "I'm no Gryffindor, sir, I don't want that sort of attention. I don't want followers, I'm not trying to inspire devotion or make people afraid of me. I just want them to leave me alone. I've not really been left alone since I came to this school, I'm too bloody famous and it pisses me off, to tell the truth. Sorry for my language, professor."

Rosier waved it off. "Not a problem, Potter. And I understand your point of view. But you'll learn more if you devote yourself more to the endeavor. You know that."

"I'm sorry sir. But again, my performance hasn't waned, so I don't completely understand the concern."

Rosier drew his wand and held it between his thumb and forefinger, considering it carefully. "How far ahead are you, Harry?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"How advanced are you compared to the rest of the class?"

Harry looked around for a moment before returning to meet Rosier's gaze. "Why would you suggest that I'm more advanced? I've simply become proficient as the material we've been taught."

"You're boredom, Harry, is a sign. I experienced much the same phenomenon when I worked ahead in defense myself. You cannot hope to remain captivated learning that which you've already mastered. And so I ask you, Harry, how far ahead have you been working?"

Harry relented. "I've looked through our textbook, sir, and nothing for the rest of the school year is something I haven't already at least worked on."

Rosier considered him for a moment. "And you study this in your spare time?"

Harry nodded.

"With any accomplices?"

"Ron Weasley at times. But I don't expect he's as far along."

Rosier agreed. "No, he is not. But he has been sufficiently capable. Should I attribute that to your influence?"

Harry shook his head. "He would have been fine on his own."

"Alright, Harry, alright. You're dismissed. Do you need a note for your next class?"

"No, sir. This is a free period."

Rosier nodded. "Fine. Dismissed."

Harry turned to the door and left the room, leaving the defense professor alone with his thoughts.

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Rosier turned back and entered his office. His desk was neat and orderly, with several gold trinkets adorning the corners in a tidy fashion. The room itself was otherwise quite bare, with the lone exception being a dusty old bookcase that sat in the far left corner, behind the desk. IT was lined with musty old tomes that appeared to have not been accessed in decades at the very least. Rosier sighed as he sat down at his desk.

But he did not have more than a moment to relax, for the second he let himself recline he heard a shouting coming from one of the many drawers on his side of the desk. He quickly opened the offending drawer and pulled from it a mirror with gold trim and a flush and nervous face appearing on its shined surface.

Rosier considered for a moment before speaking in a level tone.

"Sirius. Is there a problem?

The auror's voice was harsh and grave, as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him.

"Professor, Albus, its Moody. He's been killed."

Evan Rosier's face grew instantly hardened. "What happened, Sirius. Where were you tonight?"

Sirius fidgeted nervously for a second before continuing. "We decided, sir, well Moody had the idea that we needed to be more proactive when it came to information gathering and intelligence, we'd been seeing no results and our work at the ministry had opened no new leads… Mad-Eye was certain, Albus, that there was something going on, that there might have been a meeting taking place, and we… I went with him, of course, we were looking for anything we could use to help remove him from power…"

The face of Rosier pulled from his pocket a small flask, considered it, and then put it on the table. Albus Dumbledore cut off Sirius as his face morphed back into its true shape.

"Where were you tonight, Sirius?"

"Malfoy Manor."

Albus shook his head. "You should have consulted me, Sirius, you must have known I would have disapproved. The two of you… resources too valuable to waste."

Sirius spoke urgently. "I understand, sir. But that's irrelevant now. Moody is dead!"

Albus thought for a moment. "Who killed him?"

Sirius spoke softly. "Lucius."

"And you recovered the body?"

Sirius nodded. "I did."

Albus stood suddenly. "In that case, we will need to discuss this further. I will be there momentarily. You are at your new flat, I presume?"

Another nod.

"Good. I'm on my way."

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Harry sat listlessly on the grass beside the lake. Next to him lay Ron, on his back, looking up at the clouded sky.

"I'm cold, Harry. What are we doing out here?"

Harry sighed. "I just need to think, Ron. You could go in, if you want."

Ron sat up. "Nah, I'll stay out. I have a question for you anyway."

As the two boys spoke, they did not notice as a small rat scurried out from underneath the wimping willow behind them. The rat stopped and looked towards the lake. Acting in a most unusual manner, that rat appeared to consider the two boys down near the lake before moving in an alternate direction, towards the Hogwarts proper.

"What's up, Ron?"

"Are we ever going to practice again?"

Harry looked at him for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we haven't done anything since Riddle caught us. Have you given up on it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I've just been… biding my time. Can't be too careful. It wouldn't look good on us if we were to be caught by a less understanding teacher. Or worse, Malfoy."

Ron gave his friend a quizzical look. "Why would that be worse? I was under the impression that the two of you are friends…"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't want his father to find out. I figure he might be upset with me anyway, since I haven't owled him to take him up on his offer."

"To visit the ministry, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. I just… if he found out, I figure he probably wouldn't like it. You know, the savior of the wizarding world practicing dark magic? The press would have a field day."

Ron thought for a moment. "That's not important, Harry. We can't keep putting this off any longer. Especially you. We've got to get back to it."

Harry sat and tried to evaluate that statement. "What's in this for you, Ron? Why are you pushing this so hard? You've got nothing to fight."

"Harry, if you've got enemies, then so do I. You know that. Plus, there's always Pettigrew. He's a threat, he's free, he's with these… Death Eaters, you said. It seems like in the world there's always a threat. That's what my father told me once. And since times have been easy for so long, there's almost no way it can continue. Might as well be prepared."

"Those are the reasons?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "and there's also the allure in the power itself, you know that. But I'm trying to not let that be my sole motivation."

Harry smiled. "Good. And you're right, we really should practice more. When would work for you?"

Ron stood. "How about now?"

Harry laughed and stood as well. "I like the way you think."

And the two set off towards the castle and the room of requirement.

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"Professor, you can't be serious."

Albus Dumbledore stood at the counter in Sirius' new kitchen while Black himself was wallowing at the kitchen table.

"I find the idea as distasteful as you, Sirius. But we cannot let this opportunity pass. I would not have chosen to go about it in this way, but at this point the situation has already arisen. I will not have Alastor Moody's death to have been in vain."

Sirius gave his old headmaster an incredulous look. "But you really think we can pull this off?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I have several letters from the man, and so to replicate his handwriting will not be difficult. I trust you can relocate the body to just outside the premises? You will of course have to make it appear as if the body was hidden. But do not worry, they will find it."

Sirius nodded. "I can handle that. But you don't think he'll have an excuse?"

Albus considered. "I do not think that Lucius will expect this move. After all, if you'll excuse my arrogance, this is hardly my style. However, given the urgency of the moment… I have plans with Hogwarts, and these events could coincide perfectly with that I have in mind. So we'll take this opportunity. He cannot clear his wand, and in the end, it will betray him."

"And his witness?"

Dumbledore grimaced. "Another unsightly task, for the young man David Fawcett was a model student, and has much potential. But I fear that Malfoy has been attempting to bring him in to the fold. In either case, he will not remember what happened."

"But they can detect memory charms." Sirius thought out loud.

Albus smiled a ghost of a smile. "Not mine. They never have before."

"So let me recap my part in this. You want me to move Moody's body, hide it just outside the grounds in the forest, and then call in to the auror department that there's been a disturbance at Malfoy Manor."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. But we must hurry, for I'm certain that Lucius will be on the move. Clearing your name, Sirius, relies on our speed and execution. So we must move with haste."

Sirius nodded. "In that case, I'd better get going."

Albus took his former student by the shoulder. "Good luck, Sirius. I'll be with you shortly."


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

"I feel like we're out here on a wild goose chase. What are you looking for, Albus?"

"Rufus," Albus Dumbledore gazed at the man over his spectacles "a dear friend of mine has not been seen or heard of in over a day, when he had very specifically outlined his intent to come to this manor – _invited_, I must add – and return to me afterwards. I saw him leave, and yet he never did return."

"I'm doing this for you as a favor, Albus, but what do you expect to find?"

Albus walked lightly along the rim of trees encircling the Malfoy property. "I'm not certain. But an auror like Alastor Moody is unlikely to have been caught entirely unawares. He may have left some notice, somewhere, of his whereabouts."

Rufus sighed heavily as he paced the grounds with his former professor. "If you say so, Albus. He could have just gone off on his own."

Dumbledore shook his head. "All of my efforts to contact him have failed. You understand what that suggests."

Rufus inhaled deeply. "I do, of course I do. We'd best keep looking around."

And the two continued on their search for the better part of two hours, with Albus occasionally waving his wand and shaking his head while Rufus marched behind him looking impatient but also worried. As they settled into an almost comfortable routine, they were disturbed by the flaring of a wand from somewhere close behind them. Rufus turned while Albus continued to sweep the ground with his wand.

There stood Lucius Malfoy, wand lit and pointed at the senior auror. He smiled in a way that did not quite reach his eyes.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Rufus?"

The auror turned to look at Albus who seemed to be studiously ignoring the conversation, and then back to the minister.

"I'm here with Dumbledore, Lucius. He's concerned about the disappearance of a good friend."

Lucius' face twisted, lit sinisterly by the wand held in front of him.

"And you presume to suggest that his disappearance occurred somewhere on these grounds?"

Rufus raised his hands to placate Malfoy. "We just understand that he was intending to come here, and that he was seen leaving, and hasn't been heard from since. What would you know about this, Lucius? Any idea of Alastor Moody's whereabouts?"

Lucius gazed over Scrimgeour's shoulder for a moment at the wizened professor now kneeling on the ground and poking at something in front of him. He turned back to Rufus with a scowl.

"Of course I've no idea what you're talking about. There was no event taking place here this or last evening, and therefore I've no idea why Moody would suggest that he'd been invited. We've never been those to engage in frivolous house calls, this you should know."

Rufus frowned, a crease appearing on his forehead. "So you're saying he was never invited at all?"

Malfoy nodded. "Precisely. And so, Auror Scrimgeour, I would appreciate it if the two of you would vacate the premises."

Rufus shrugged. "Of course, Minister. I've just been doing my job."

He turned to Dumbledore and pulled at his sleeve. "Albus, we'd best be going."

But Dumbledore, still kneeling, shook his head. "No, Rufus. I'm afraid we won't be going anywhere quite yet."

The elderly man waved his wand and a single bone erupted from the ground in front of him, spraying dirt and debris on both Scrimgeour and himself.

"Albus!" Rufus shouted in surprise.

"Forgive me, Rufus, but I'm afraid we've bigger problems."

Malfoy stepped forward now, clearly concerned, but Rufus held out an arm to stop him.

"What do you mean, Albus? What is that?"

Albus turned to face the two men, a grim look plastered on his face. "That," he said harshly, "is my good friend, Alastor Moody."

He waved his wand one more and the bone reverted back into the slightly damaged but very real corpse of Alastor Moody.

With a snap, Dumbledore whirled around at a speed that belied his age and pointed his wand directly between the eyes of the Minister of Magic.

Malfoy's attention snapped away from the body, rage and horror fighting to become the dominant expression. Rufus Scrimgeour took an automatic step back and bumped his shoulder up against the Minister.

And Dumbledore uttered, in low menacing tones, "Lucius Malfoy. Are you responsible for this?"

And the two other men could feel the power radiating off of him, the strength rolling out in waves. Malfoy took another step back, his hands shaking lightly, and he shook his head.

"No, Dumbledore. No, I did not murder Alastor Moody in cold blood."

Dumbledore gestured towards Scrimgeour with his wand. "Rufus, inspect his wand."

And now Malfoy managed to look indignant, despite the clear threat of Dumbledore's wand outstretched before him.

"You… you can't do this! I've done nothing wrong, you have no evidence!"

And Scrimgeour's face turned grim. "A dead body found buried and transfigured on your grounds says otherwise."

"You had no warrant! No right to be here."

The auror shook his head. "I don't much care about that at this point, _minister_. Relinquish your wand, or I will take it from you."

Lucius' eyes sharpened, his fist curled tightly around his wand. "I'll have your job for this, Scrimgeour. More than that, I'll have your head."

Dumbledore waved his wand and with a shout of fear Malfoy felt his wand torn from his hand. The wand made a graceful arc before the old wizard plucked it out of the evening sky. He handed it swiftly to Scrimgeour.

"Check the wand for unforgivables, if you would. It's clear that Moody was struck down with no less than the killing curse itself."

Rufus raised his wand and muttered, "_Priori Incantato._"

And a slow, sickly light began to emit from the other wand. Malfoy looked on with horror as Rufus and Dumbledore shared a grim look. The auror cancelled the spell and lightly placed Malfoy's wand in his pocket.

"What have you got to say for yourself?"

Lucius' face was white as a sheet, but he spoke quickly to Scrimgeour.

"You've got to believe me, Rufus, they're having me framed! I didn't invite Moody, he came here trying to infiltrate my home, harm my family, and I was only protecting my home as I have the right to do! I'm the Minister of Magic, you can't believe I'd put my career, my life in such jeopardy for so little…"

He was cut off by Dumbledore's silencing spell.

"Enough, Lucius. You cast an unforgivable curse. A man, my friend, is _dead _because of you. Rufus, if you would?"

Rufus turned to Malfoy and pulled his arms behind his back. "You're under arrest, Lucius. I'm sorry, but I've got no other choice. Albus is correct, what you've done is unforgivable."

Lucius let out a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I suppose there's nothing I could say that would make you believe me."

Albus answered for the Head Auror, "No, Lucius. I'm afraid there's nothing."

And Malfoy nodded as he was apparated away, leaving Dumbledore alone with the body of his friend, Alastor Moody. He turned and knelt down beside the corpse, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"I'm sorry, old friend. I'm sorry I couldn't get to you in time. I wish things didn't have to end this way."

The moonlight reflected off of the soft tears trickling down the wizened face of the former headmaster as he buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry."

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The ministry itself was in an uproar. It was late enough in the evening that most of those who worked their typical nine to five jobs had long been away from the ministry, but within the auror department, which worked at its own schedule, there was a sense of chaos running rampant about the place.

There were hundreds of paper airplanes flying through the halls and impeding smooth traffic through any of them. The chatter between the clerks and receptionists was overwhelming, and the aurors themselves were all trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

David Fawcett stepped out of the central fireplace and into the menagerie that the Auror Department had become. He looked about, startled, and walked swiftly to the receptionist on duty at her desk. She was in the middle of a conversation with a short and squat looking woman who stepped back at the sight of the auror trainee. Fawcett brushed her aside and spoke to the woman on duty.

"What the hell is going on here?" Fawcett asked harshly.

The woman leaned forward over her desk and spoke in quick, excited tones.

"There's something of an uproar… Rufus Scrimgeour, the head of the department, you know,"

Fawcett gestured at her to continue, his face clearly frustrated. She swallowed hard for a moment, and then continued.

"Well, he appeared here holding a very important man at wandpoint. When we all saw, we literally gasped, I mean, me and the other girls who were on duty at the time, how could we not! It is absolutely unbelievable, and nobody's heard from Scrimgeour since, he hasn't come out of the holding cells! It is absolutely remarkable, and everybody who is anybody is trying to find out what's going on! Things are a right mess around here, I mean, I don't know how they expect me to do my job and answer the floo with this cacophony…"

Fawcett growled in frustration, and the woman's next words caught in her throat.

"Who was the man?" Fawcett asked slowly.

The receptionist flushed red, but answered in quick, chipper tones, "Why, the Minister of Magic himself!"

Fawcett's face turned grave, and he brusquely turned away from the woman and marched down the hall, pushing his way through the onslaught of paper airplanes and confused aurors. As he walked, he considered what might have occurred. He knew the Minister had killed, but he also knew it was in self defense. He had been attacked! His home had been invaded. If he could only get to Scrimgeour, he could tell him the truth. He had to get there in time to tell him!

Moving at almost a jog, he took several turns and came up to the door that led down to the holding cells. A tall, black man dressed in auror robes was standing at attention in front of the door, clearly guarding the entrance. Fawcett approached the man swiftly.

"Shacklebolt, what the hell is going on here?"

The man eyed him wearily. "Trainee Fawcett. You shouldn't be here at this time."

"I'll ask again, Kingsley. What the hell happened? Why did the Minister get brought in? He's the fucking Minister!"

Shacklebolt gave him a withering look. "Watch your tone. And that information is currently classified."

"If this is about Moody, if this is about… look, I think I know what happened. And the Minister didn't do anything wrong!"

Kingsley started at the mention of Moody. "You were with him earlier this evening?"

Fawcett nodded. "I was. I was with him when… if what I think we're talking about here, I know what happened.

Shacklebolt nodded slowly in response.

"Stay here. Don't go anywhere else."

Without waiting for an answer the auror turned and walked through the door. As it shut, Fawcett could hear the footsteps echoing down the sloping stairway that led to the holding cells.

And so he waited. As he did, he looked around at the office while considering what his options might be. There was no way that Malfoy wouldn't have told them what happened. And yet, despite everything, he knew that the Minister had in fact used an Unforgivable, and despite the circumstances, that could wind up very poorly for the man. He growled lightly in frustration. And he started to wonder slightly about how they had been found out. Of course Black had reported it, but there was no way he could tell the simple truth to the department, because his actions had clearly been in the wrong. And so who would be able to turn this so heavily against Malfoy when he was simply defending his safety and property? And why? In his opinion, Malfoy made an excellent minister, and the ministry itself seemed to run quite efficiently.

It was at that moment that the door reopened and Shacklebolt came out. "Fawcett," he spoke harshly, "it has been requested that you return to your office. Professor Dumbledore would like to speak to you, and once he's finished, the Head Auror would also like a moment of your time."

Fawcett nodded automatically and turned back down the hallway. As he walked, his blood ran cold at the thought of who was waiting for him. Dumbledore! It seemed clear now. Dumbledore had been ousted from Hogwarts, an event which had been clearly engineered by Malfoy. Moody had always been of divided loyalty, and Black was a known supporter of the former headmaster. It was he who had to gain from an imprisoned Malfoy.

And as he thought of this, he also began to worry about what was in store for him when he arrived at his office. Would Dumbledore be waiting? Would he demand silence from him about the true events? Or would he simply force him to forget?

But what could he do? He was in a dangerous predicament, as he knew factions would be trying to oust the minister, he was a friend of the minister, and he knew the truth of the day's events. He also knew that he was very clearly in danger. For who would believe him over Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour?

As he entered the hallway that contained his office, his step slowed and he pondered his possible courses of action. He could take his chances with Dumbledore, he could walk back and try to reach Rufus first, or… he could run.

If Dumbledore was truly behind the framing, putting himself in a room alone with the man would be foolish at best. There was also the chance that Scrimgeour was involved, or at least siding with Dumbledore and was aware of the situation. That meant that there was at least some risk in visiting the man as well. And either way, he did not truly believe that his account would keep Malfoy out of prison. What Scrimgeour wanted, he usually got. And with the evidence of an Avada Kedavra, all of Lucius Malfoy's political capital would be useless. He would be imprisoned, likely thrown in Azkaban within the week.

And so, as he walked purposefully past his office without sparing it a glance, he began to prepare in his mind for what his next move would be.

He would save Lucius Malfoy from an unfair fate, from the horror of visiting Azkaban. He just had to figure out how.

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"_Expelliarmus_!"

Harry spun away as the spell crashed against the wall behind him. He turned to see Ron already incanting another disarming hex which leapt from his wand and towards the black haired boy.

Harry reflexively shouted, "_Protego_!" and Ron's hex reflected harmlessly to the side.

Just as Ron seemed ready to call out another spell, Harry held up a hand to stop him. "Alright, Ron, that's good for the moment, let's take a break for a bit."

The red head nodded, and the two of them sat down heavily on the chairs conjured up for them by the Room of Requirement. Ron leaned back, wiping sweat from his forehead as Harry pocketed his wand.

"You're better than before, Ron." Harry said lightly.

A smile played on Ron's lips as he responded, "You're not the only one who practices, Harry. I wouldn't let myself get rusty."

Harry nodded. "That's good, neither of us can really afford that. You're keeping up in classes?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure, I suppose. I have to admit, Herbology hasn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind, but I think I'm doing okay. I expect to pass everything, at least."

"Exams are approaching at a frightening pace."

Ron sighed and sat deeper in the chair. "Eh, you shouldn't be worried, Harry."

Harry shot him a look. "I'm not."

"Good. Because I'm pretty sure you'll be just fine. You're easily the top of the class in Defense. And you seem to hold your own elsewhere, although I'm not actually in those classes with you."

"I suppose. Thing's will be fine."

Ron looked over Harry for a moment. "Is there something wrong, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not really. Why?"

"I dunno. You just seem a little out of it, you seemed that way while we were dueling. Either that, or I'm getting even better than you!"

Harry did smile at that. "You think so, do you?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't see why not. You're not so special, there's no reason I shouldn't be able to beat you in a fight."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and then pointed to himself. "Uh, Boy-Who-Lived. That's all the reason you need."

Ron actually laughed. "You know you didn't actually do anything."

Harry did smile himself. "You're mostly right about that. That doesn't mean you're better than me, Ron."

"I think I might have had you on the ropes this last one, before you called it."

Harry frowned. "Take it easy, Ron. Weren't you just worrying about me?"

Ron waved the concern aside. "You say you're fine, I believe you're fine.

"I am. It's just unlike you to let me off the hook so easily."

Ron smirked lightly. "Well, there's a possibility that I think you might be stalling, to regain your breath."

Harry shook his head, amused. "You really want to get your ass kicked, don't you?"

Ron stood up then, and resumed his spot on the floor. "Well, give it a try then."

Harry sighed and stood up himself. "If you insist."

Harry drew his wand and held it lightly at his side. Both boys stood, there wands still for a moment, before Ron raised his quickly and shouted, "_Stupefy_!"

Harry simply held his ground and allowed the spell to shoot by over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at Ron, and gestured for the other boy to continue. Laughing, Ron sent a leg-locker curse towards Harry, which was also deflected with ease.

In return, Harry muttered a soft incantation and a flood of water went streaming from his wand towards the other boy. Ron stepped to the side to avoid the direct stream, but the ground below him grew wet and slippery. Ron sent another hex in retaliation, but it slid by Harry as he waved his wand, transfiguring the water in to ice.

Ron let out a yelp as he took a step forward and slipped, falling down on his back as his curse flew wildly over Harry's head. Pressing his advantage, Harry stepped forward and cast a flurry of minor hexes and stunning spells. Ron managed to pull a shield in front of him, which held up to the mild onslaught of spells being sent by the raven haired boy.

Harry let up for a moment, to give the other boy a chance to recover, but rather than wait Ron rolled over on to his side and sent a cutting curse upwards towards Harry.

Surprised, Harry didn't manage to turn out of the way in the time, and caught the curse on the shoulder, drawing a deep gash in his shoulder. Harry looked down to see blood seeping through his shirt. Ron's eyes widened as Harry turned back to him, wand raised and eyes blazing.

"Harry, wait, I'm sorry, I –"

Harry cut off the other boy with an overcharged blasting curse that smashed the ground in front of Ron, showering him with debris. Without a second thought Harry took another step forward, casting his own cutting curse with shot through the debris and barely swept over Ron's shoulder, barely missing him.

Ron tried to sit up and throw his own stunning spell, but Harry reflected the spell away and, with a snarl on his face, shouted, "_Deprimo_!"

The spell collided with the now sitting Ron and threw him roughly to the ground, an immense pressure being placed on the boy's body. He began to scream as the spell pressed against him, forcing him into the ground.

The sound of Ron's screams snapped Harry out of his craze, and with a start he pulled the spell away and looked from his wand to the other boy in a daze.

Ron himself sat up, gasping for air. Harry knelt down to help him, but Ron smacked his arm violently away. Harry tried to speak, but Ron, managing to stand, sent him a withering look. With a snarl, the boy left the Room of Requirement, leaving Harry to standing helplessly alone.

With a sigh, Harry sank down on to the floor – the ice slowly melting and seeping down into a drain the room had suddenly provided in the middle of the ring. Harry leaned back on his hands and let his wand clatter to the floor, his mind occupied by how consumed he had become at the slightest injury. He sat there for several frustrating minutes before turning to look at his shoulder, which was still bleeding slightly.

He sighed and stood, intending to head to the infirmary. He reached down to snatch his wand off of the ground, and made his way to the exit.

As he stepped out in to the hallway, he looked around. The hallway was empty, and he counted his blessings that there were no other students or Slytherins around that he would have to explain his wound to. He quickly began to jog down the hall in the direction of the infirmary, trying not to leave a trail of dripping blood from his wound behind him.

He passed through the halls of Hogwarts in a stupor, hardly paying attention to his surroundings. Had he been looking more intently, he would have notice that the hallways were less crowded than usual, and that many of the portraits were more silent than usual. As he turned a corner with his head down, he heard a sound almost similar to a quick rush of wind, and then a whisper.

"Harry. Harry Potter."

Harry turned slowly. There, a few paces away from him, stood Peter Pettrigrew. He was holding a wand outstretched and aimed at Harry's heart.

"I've been waiting to see you for a long time, Harry Potter."

Harry looked at him warily, his hand resting on the wand sticking out of his side pocket.

"Peter Pettrigrew."

The man's rat like features turned upwards into a smile. "You remember me, Harry. I'm charmed."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't be. You've made a mistake in coming here. You'll never be able to escape."

Peter actually laughed at this. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Harry Potter."

Harry's face grew into a dark grin, all thoughts of physical pain and emotional distress flushed away by the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"Well I guess that makes us even."

Pettrigrew laughed again. "You do think highly…"

Harry cut him off sharply. "Why are you here, you fucking rat."

"Cut to the chase, Harry, I like that." Peter took a step closer and Harry's left foot took an instinctive step back. "The simple truth of the matter, Harry, is that I'm here for one reason, and one reason only. I'm here to finish what I started over a decade ago. I'm here to kill you, Harry. In some ways I'm sorry, but I have no other option."

Harry clenched his wand even more tightly. "Heh, a little melodramatic there. I wish I had some sort of snappy retort."

"No need, Harry. It'll all be over soon."

Harry raised his wand then and fell into his favored stance. "Well then, why don't we get this started?"

Peter sighed. "No, Harry, we won't start. We'll finish." And with a quick snap of his wand he shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_!"


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

David Fawcett stepped out of the Ministry of Magic and in to the London streets. It was late evening, and the majestic glitter of the city skyline rose before him as he paced the alleyways that bridged the magical and muggle worlds. The streets themselves were littered and messy, reflecting the scattered thoughts running rampant through the young man's head.

He just found himself walking. With no particular destination, no idea where he even could go that he could consider safe, he lost himself in the anonymity of cityscape; simply one of thousands of forgotten men and women meandering aimlessly from moment to moment, awaiting the impetus for something different, waiting for the cataclysm that might allow their lives to change.

And yet, when he stood still, he knew what was required of him. He just didn't know if he could do it. A man he considered a friend, a mentor even, had been imprisoned. Imprisoned for a crime that he was not responsible for. An event that he had personally witnessed. And still he knew that there was nothing he could do – legitimately. The courts and Dumbledore would have their way and Malfoy would be thrown through the gates of Azkaban. One of the truly horrible fates that could await a wizard in their lifetime. In many ways, death would be preferable.

There was really one option, if he wanted to retain his integrity. If he wanted to help a man who had helped him, who had been willing to invite him to his home, and who he knew stood for the side of good and would help him in his search for she who had been responsible for Tonks' death.

He stood for a moment, the clouds in the night sky passing over and obscuring the moon from view. With a sigh, he turned around, and began to move at almost a jog as he returned to the source of his problems where he'd only left an hour prior. But this time, he wasn't going to be leaving alone.

It took him a little less time to get back, as he was moving swiftly and with a purpose, and sooner than he expected he found himself at the entrance to the Ministry. With a grim smile and a hand on his wand, he made his was inside, rain beginning to fall from the ominous clouds in his wake.

The lifts were open with no line to be seen. It was late, and Fawcett expected that he would be one of the few ministry employees still in the building. Not that he expected to be one after this evening – but some things are more important than a job, he thought. As he felt the lift drop down the seven levels to the Auror Department, he contemplated exactly how he was going to accomplish this feat. It wasn't getting in that he expected to be an issue – it was getting out.

But as the lift doors opened and he stepped towards his office, a plan began to come to him. It wasn't new, and it certainly wasn't inventive, but he suspected it would work. And as he looked around, he noted that there was only the one auror, Dawlish, sitting on duty at his desk. Even the receptionist who annoyed him was nowhere to be seen. He smiled lightly as Dawlish waved and he nodded in return. If he had to, he believed he could get passed the other man, especially with the element of surprise on his side. He just had to hope that Malfoy hadn't been removed from the holding cells yet. He assumed not, as typically one wasn't brought to Azkaban until processing, and that typically took a full twenty four hours. However, with Rufus he couldn't be sure, and at this thought he quickened his pace.

As he reached the innocuous looking door that concealed the stairway down to the holding cells he slowed his pace down to a halt. He looked around, but there was no one watching him. With a slight shrug, he waved his wand and the door came ajar. He pushed it softly and descended the steps into the holding cells below.

The cells were dimly lit, set up in three rows of three cells each. There was no single guard on duty; it was usually presumed that to get to this point, you had to be someone already trustworthy. For a moment, Fawcett mused about the lack of security, but since it helped him, he certainly wouldn't be the one to complain. He passed the first row, glancing down at the cells on both sides but seeing only a few drunks who had clearly been brought in for the night and several cells left entirely empty. His heart began to sank, as it seemed more likely now that Malfoy had not in fact been left in the ministry overnight.

But as he paced down the third and final row of cells, he saw a man with a shock of platinum hair sitting with his head in his hands at the far end of the hall. He was in the cell alone, and Fawcett thought he might be sleeping. But as his footsteps echoed, the man, the Minister of Magic, raised his eyes wearily. But when his gaze rested on Fawcett, his eyebrows rose as far as they could.

"David," he spoke softly.

Fawcett hurried to the cell and knelt down outside the iron bars. "Minister Malfoy, I came as soon as I could."

Malfoy shook his head. "What are you doing here? You don't have the clearance to be speaking with me now, I know that."

Fawcett waved that aside and spoke rapidly. "What happened? How did you end up down here? How could they arrest you for defending yourself?"

Malfoy sighed. "They don't believe me, that I was defending myself, I mean. Moody's body was discovered buried on the outskirts of my property, transfigured to look like a bone."

"You never did that. I was with you!"

Malfoy nodded. "I know. And I didn't anticipate the underhand tactics to which Dumbledore would stoop in order to have me ousted."

Fawcett ran a hand through his hair. "But I was with you, I could testify, they'd have to believe the both of us."

Malfoy chuckled harshly. "And why would that be? Your word against Dumbledore's? Despite everything, you wouldn't have a chance. And of course, I did kill a man, David. Can you still look me in the eyes?"

David nodded. "Of course I can. He attacked first; the two of them were on your property. You did nothing wrong!"

"It does not matter. For tomorrow, I will certainly be in Azkaban, and there will be a new Minister of Magic."

Fawcett stood quickly, drawing his wand as he reached his feet. "No. There's nothing I can do about you losing your position, but you will not be in Azkaban. Not now, not ever."

With a wave of his wand the cell doors disintegrated, leaving a large space wide enough for Malfoy to slip through. Lucius looked up at the young man, a strange expression on his face.

"You'll be giving up your career. Everything you've worked for."

Fawcett nodded. "I know. We've got to be going."

Mafloy inclined his head slightly, and fell in behind the young auror in training. Fawcett, however, stopped suddenly.

"You're wand. Where is it?"

Lucius shrugged. "I can't know. I believe Rufus himself might have taken it. There's nothing to be done, we've got to leave."

David nodded and pulled Lucius in front of him and conjured bindings that fell into place around the man's arms and legs.

Lucius smiled lightly, and the two began their ascent up into the auror's office. As the light struck upon the two, Fawcett began to grow nervous. If things went wrong, they'd have to escape the ministry quickly. While it was understaffed at the moment, it certainly wasn't empty, and he knew they'd run into more trouble than he could necessarily handle if they had to fight their way through Dawlish and the others who would undoubtedly come.

He pushed Malfoy roughly down the corridor, putting on a show for the on duty auror. Dawlish looked up at the spectacle before him and frowned.

"What's going on here?"

Fawcett, holding his wand just out of sight with his right hand, turned to face the man. "Bringing him to Azkaban. We're doing it now, Scrimgeour said, so that there's no chance of him making an escape in a crowd or finding outside assistance."

Dawlish looked him up and down for a moment. "I didn't hear anything about that."

David shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. All I know is what I was told to do."

Dawlish frowned. "I'm going to call Rufus. You stay right there."

The man turned to the fireplace situated behind his desk and swiftly grabbed a handful of floo powder.

Fawcett, knowing that he couldn't allow Dawlish to make that call, raised his wand silently and called out, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Dawlish turned but was too slow to avoid the spell and he clattered to the ground, unable to raise the alarm, the floo powder still clenched in his hand.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here."

And David Fawcett led Malfoy unmolested from the Ministry, heart pounding wildly in his chest every step of the way.

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The jet of sickly green light flew over Harry's head as he dove to the ground, his wand arm flying up to cast a spell of his own as he rose swiftly to his knees. But he had no time to speak before Pettigrew spat out the incantation for a second killing curse. Harry managed to slip to the side of this curse and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

Peter Pettigrew positively _laughed_ as he batted the spell aside like it was nothing. Harry noted an oddly crinkled parchment clasped in the man's hand. "You're going to need something more than that, Harry Potter. _Crucio!_"

Harry leapt aside again, but his right foot landed awkwardly and he tumbled to the ground, inadvertently avoiding the third Killing Curse that had been sent at his head.

"You won't be able to keep this up, Harry." Peter spoke softly, with sinister undertones making themselves entirely clear.

"You'll be caught. Riddle will know you're here, I'm sure he's already on his way."

Peter nodded. "You're correct, of course. But don't think he'll be in time to save you. I've left little… presents, for anyone who comes near."

Harry actually laughed. "He's a far greater wizard than you will ever be. You won't be able to touch him."

"No, just slow him down. _Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry managed to step out of the way just in time, and shouted in response, "_Percutio!_"

The spell pierced Pettigrew through the upper right arm, his wand arm. Pettigrew let out a shout and clapped his left hand to try and staunch the bleeding. He looked at Harry furiously.

"You've been dabbling, Harry. Dangerous at your age."

Harry managed the best smirk he was able, given the circumstances. "For you, yeah, you're right. _Flammasectum!_"

Pettigrew dove to the ground and managed to avoid bearing the brunt of the scorching flame that emanated from the point of Harry's wand.

Harry stepped forward now, pressing his advantage. He shouted out several spells in quick succession, "_Expelliarmus! Confringo! Expelliarmus!"_

Peter did manage to avoid the first two spells before taking the third in the chest as he attempted to stand. His wand flew through the air towards Harry who caught it deftly.

Harry approached the cowering man slowly, wand raised and pointed at his temple. "Why are you here, you piece of shit. Why now? Why are you trying to kill me?"

Peter looked up at the son of his childhood best friend. "Please, you must understand. I was sent here, I had no other choice! Please, take pity, don't… don't kill me, Harry."

"Who sent you?" Harry pressed harshly, jabbing his wand closer.

Pettigrew scrambled back, trying to regain some footing. "You know her. Bellatrix. It was Bellatrix! I had to follow orders, I had no choice."

Harry sneered at him. "You're the reason I have no family. You betrayed my parents, your best friends. You don't deserve my mercy."

Peter shook his head sadly. "No, you're right, I don't. But think about your father, Harry. James wouldn't want you to become a murder. Not in cold blood, not for me."

"Well thanks to you I'll never know that. I've really no other option."

Harry raised his wand, poised to strike, and with a slight yell Peter disappeared. Harry looked around, and noticed that in his place was a slightly overweight rat. And the rat was running.

Harry let out a low growl and sent a jet of fire down the hallway, but the rat was gone. Dejected, the raven haired boy slumped to the ground, the shot of adrenaline beginning already to ebb. As he sat, worries coursing through his mind, he noticed the crumpled parchment had been left on the ground where Pettigrew had been cowering.

Harry leaned over and snatched the parchment and his eyes widened in surprise. This was no mere parchment. It was a map. And as he watched, the various names and dots swirled around the halls of what was clearly Hogwarts. And he noticed one name in particular – Peter Pettigrew. Harry, smiling with grim satisfaction, stood up. He would not let Pettigrew escape, and with this map he had the means to catch him. Peter Pettigrew would not escape his wrath.

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"Well that was unexpected."

Malfoy nodded at Bellatrix's words, unable to find a suitable reply. The two were sitting in a poorly furnished room with little light tucked away in the back of one of several safe houses Lucius had appropriated throughout his career. It was early morning, too early to even see the sun breaking on the horizon.

Lucius Malfoy's eyes were bloodshot, his face taut and his expression grim. Bellatrix sat in front of him, a small table with several empty glasses separating the two. Lestrange herself did not seem nearly as upset as Malfoy, in fact a smile smirk seemed to be playing on her lips. If Lucius noticed, he did not comment on it.

"You're little plan backfired exponentially, I would say."

Malfoy shook his head in despair. "I couldn't have seen this coming. Neither of us could have expected this."

Bellatrix sat back in her seat, balancing a wine glass between her fingers. "No, I couldn't have predicted that Dumbledore would use this, but I could have told you from the start that yours was a dangerous idea. In fact, I do believe I said that in the first place."

"I was trying to eliminate a threat."

"You moved hastily when there was no need, no imminent danger." Lestrange snapped in reply. "I mean, that compulsion was absolutely unnecessary. I understand you wanted to discredit Moody, but this was not the way."

Lucius growled in frustration. "It wasn't just about Moody. He and Black were Dumbledore's closest allies, his confidants. I thought it important to isolate the old man, leave him entirely on his own."

Bellatrix paused long enough to take a sip of wine before responding.

"Regardless, we can't go back, so we've got to make the best of the situation we find ourselves in now."

Malfoy nodded and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. "You're right, of course. This is a setback, but not a fatal one. No thanks to you."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Malfoy leaned forward, elbows resting on the table in front of him. "I mean, you were no help to me."

Ballatrix furrowed her brow. "How could I have known, Lucius? You sent no word."

"That's not the point. Without that young man, without Fawcett, I would be on my way to Azkaban about now."

This elicited an actual chuckle from the woman. "You've got to admit, it truly is delicious irony."

"At this point I'm more inclined to keep him around than you." Malfoy snapped back.

Bellatrix leaned forward and set the glass roughly on the table. "Well, Lucius, unfortunately for you, you don't get to make that kind of decision. Because while you've been playing figurehead, I've been the one operating on the ground. The vast majority of our organization follows me, not you. I'm far more vital to this effort than you will ever be."

"Fawcett will be a valuable resource."

"Too bad he'll never stay with us. You can't forget I'm the one who killed his partner. I tortured the boy. If he sees me, one of us will end up dead. And you can bet that won't be me. Where is he, by the way? "

Malfoy stood up. "He's sleeping off in another part of the house. And I'd already thought about that. I have a proposition."

Lestrange raised an eyebrow. "And that would be?"

Malfoy took a step back and brushed a hand through his hair. "Look, Fawcett is powerful. And too valuable to simply let go. In truth, I owe him a debt. Give him to me, perhaps a few others, and we'll form a sort of side contingent. You can order us around to your heart's content, but I'd prefer it if you'd focus on the swelling of our ranks and the infiltration of the various ministry departments we've outlined in the past. You want to be the general, go ahead. I just want a small group. That's all."

Bellatrix sighed. "I'll think about it, Malfoy. But honestly, I've something else on my mind."

"And what would that be?"

Lestrange looked upset. "I can't believe I'm letting what that rat said to me, but there was something Pettigrew said to me that I just haven't been able to shake."

Malfoy sat back down. "Pettigrew? What did he say?"

"He was upset about something or other and pointed out that we've no figurehead. We've no Grindelwald. Despite my prowess I couldn't stand against Dumbledore. You couldn't either. Were he to get wind of our renewed activity, were he to find us, it wouldn't matter how efficiently we've planned. The old man could sweep us aside like we're nothing."

Malfoy frowned. "So you're scared of Dumbledore."

Lestrange nodded. "Yes, I am. And so should you be."

"He ruined me in the span of an evening – without even knowing what I was planning, he turned my work against me and ruined my career and my public life. Yes, you could say I fear the man. But I do also hate him. I want him dead."

Bellatrix sighed. "Is that something you can accomplish?"

Malfoy looked thoughtful. "Not if I were to stand and duel him, of course not. But you say that our major problem is Dumbledore. The Ministry is nothing in comparison with the threat he presents."

"True."

"So it seems to me the answer is clear. You're right about the figurehead, of course, but for the moment that issue is not as pressing. What we need is Dumbledore out of the picture."

Bellatrix looked at him strangely. "You're suggesting we kill him."

Lucius looked at her seriously. "Do we have any other option?"

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Harry followed the map. The little dot labeled Pettigrew was still on the grounds. The rat had merely gone to hide, clearly not expecting to be found. He had finally become stationary on one of the lower levels near the dungeons. Harry made his way as swiftly as possible down the moving stairs of Hogwarts, desperately hoping that Pettigrew wouldn't start to move again.

As he descended the final stairway, he found himself on the same floor as Pettigrew. It was dark and the air was somewhat damp – he was lower down even than the potions classroom. In truth, Harry hadn't ever really explored these areas of Hogwarts. He felt his nerves begin to overtake the adrenaline that had fueled his pursuit to this point. He looked down the hallway – where the map claimed Pettigrew was hiding. He slowed his pace and held his wand at the ready, with Pettigrew's tucked in to his back pocket. He was determined to not be caught unawares.

"_Lumos,_" Harry whispered, and the tip of his wand lit his surroundings. Harry scanned the hallway, which came to a dead end a few hundred paces from where he was standing. Harry could see no person, and a quick glance at the map showed his dot almost on top of that labeled Pettigrew. He steadied himself. It seemed most likely that Peter was still in his animagus form. He began to step towards the dead end, slowly but surely scouring the ground for any movement whatsoever. He made his way all the way to the end of the hall, but had not seen any sort of movement whatsoever. Frustrated, he looked down to check the map. He could see that his dot and that of Pettigrew were now entirely overlapping. Harry furrowed his brow and wondered if maybe Pettigrew was actually on a different floor.

Suddenly he felt his legs get swept out from under him. Harry shouted as Pettigrew tackled his legs and brought him to the ground hard. His wand and the map both slipped from his hands as he instinctively tried to prevent himself from smashing into the rough and hard stone floor. He felt the other man's weight leave him and he looked up just in time to see Pettigrew lifting the wand from the ground beside him.

Knowing he had only a second, Harry grabbed Peter's wand from his back pocket, swung it forth and shouted, "_Flammasectum!_"

The tightly coiled burst of flame spewed from Harry's wand. Peter looked up just in time to see the flame bearing down upon him. He hastily tried to counter, but was unable to prevent the searing heat from connecting with his chest. He screamed and Harry stood slowly, not breaking the connection, a fierce look flickering on his face in the sinister light provided by the deadly curse. Peter's screams grew as Harry poured more and more energy into the connection.

Harry could hear his name among the screams, and with a wrench he pulled the flames away. He stared pitilessly at the curled up form of his parent's betrayer. He was still alive, and gasping for air. Harry noticed with a sinking heart that his personal wand had clearly been damaged by the searing heat, and with frustration he wrenched the wand from his adversaries' hand. He considered it for a moment, and with a swish and flick from it he lifted Pettigrew into the air and threw him against the wall. Satisfied that his wand still worked, he knelt down in front of the man still wheezing on the ground.

The smell of burnt flesh assaulted Harry's senses as he knelt.

"Peter Pettigrew." Harry's tone was harsh, and the older man managed to look up and make eye contact with the boy. "Peter, you don't deserve to call yourself a wizard." With a swift motion Harry held out Pettigrew's wand and snapped it in two. Peter's eyes widened but he didn't have the energy to even object.

Harry's face twisted into a sneer as he stood. "Give me a reason, Peter. Give me a reason for why I shouldn't kill you here and now."

Peter's face was charred and red, but the burns couldn't obscure the glistening tears streaming from his eyes. He shook his head. "There's nothing, Harry. I deserve this."

Harry felt himself conflicted. He cursed himself as he began to feel pity for the man in front of him. He knew in his heart that Peter didn't regret his actions – he wouldn't have come to kill Harry if he regretted the killing of his parents. And yet he had still a hard time reconciling the man he knew Pettigrew to be with the weeping damaged man in front of him.

With a sigh, Harry knelt and let his wand fall to his side. "Pettigrew, stop crying. I'm not going to kill you."

Another voice boomed from behind the two, and Harry swiveled quickly, wand raised.

"That is your choice, Harry Potter. Yet do you really believe you can forgive the man who severed you permanently from your family? The man who has tried twice now to kill you? You may truly be a better man than I, Harry."

Harry lowered his wand. "Headmaster Riddle. You're here."

Riddle gazed over the scene in front of him with an inscrutable look that faded into a chilling smile. "I am, Harry."

With a single fluid motion Tom Riddle raised his wand and pointed. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

And the hall was filled with a green light and the sound of rushing death.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Sorry for the long delay between the last chapter and this one. I've been in the process of moving across the country, and that's certainly sapped a bunch of my time. But I would expect the update rate to be more like it has been in the past, or at least I'll try to maintain that standard. Thanks for reading!

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

Riddle's gaze swept the hallway in front of him.

Harry was there, no longer standing, but leaning heavily for support against the wall of the corridor. The boy's gaze was trained downwards, towards the man he had been so dueling.

Peter Pettigrew's eyes were wide, his hands rubbing up against one another as if to prove that indeed, he was still alive. A small scorch mark blemished the wall a mere two inches above where the shaking man lay.

When Riddle spoke his tones were soft, almost reverent.

"You know that spell, Harry."

Harry's response was muted. "Yes. I do."

"The only person to ever survive that curse, Harry. Even now, years later, we haven't found out why. It is very possible we will never be certain as to the cause."

Harry nodded, a slightly vacant look occupying his usually prying eyes.

Riddle turned as Pettigrew's whimpers were finally able to escape his throat. Tom scoffed at the pitiful man, defeated by a boy and gasping in the face of death.

"Yes, Pettigrew. You're still alive."

Peter's voice came out raspy, his breath seeming to have still not returned to him.

"I… I don't know what to say. Thank you, thank you, please –"

Riddle's face remained impassive. "Do not thank me Peter. For you truly deserve far worse than a quick and painless death. And regardless, the right to your life does not belong to me. I wouldn't kill you, Peter. Unless I had no other choice."

"I just beg you, give me a chance, I promise I can help you, I can help all of you, if you'll protect me. I know things!"

Riddle held up a hand to stop him. "No, Peter. You misunderstood. I would not take your life in my hands, because that privilege belongs to Harry, and Harry alone." The tall man's gaze swept towards Harry, and he continued, "Harry, what you do is your own choice. But I am proud of you for facing down this man."

Harry stood slowly. "I can't kill him."

Riddle raised his brow curiously. "No?"

Harry's grip tightened on his wand. "He betrayed my family. He was one of their best friends. He endangered Sirius as well. I… I know all this. I know who he is, and what he's done. I know he's a terrible person. When I Sirius first told me about him, I mean, I wanted to kill him. Of course I did! I want him to die. I seriously want him dead."

Riddle glanced at Pettigrew, who had begun to stand, and flicked his wand. Pettigrew collapsed on the floor, the air knocked out of him.

"That's completely understandable, Harry. You are right for feeling those things. No son who has undergone what you have could possibly feel any other way."

"But I can't kill him."

Tom Riddle assessed Harry for a moment, but did not speak. Harry noted that his professor was waiting for him to elaborate, and so he did.

"I mean, I don't think I could kill anyone. I'm just… I don't know. How can I be the one to end a life? I have a hard time even understanding what that truly means! I saying, it's too big for me."

Riddle seemed to take a moment processing this statement, before giving Harry a light nod. "Bind him, Harry. You know how."

Harry raised his wand and turned away from his mentor to face Peter Pettigrew. As he did, Riddle's wand hand seemed to spasm, tensing for a moment. A look of consternation flitted across Riddle's face before, disappearing as quickly as it had come. His hand relaxed, and he watched as the boy, only twelve years old, conjured ropes and bound the now lightly struggling body in front of him.

He felt in himself an unexpected surge of pride. His training with Harry, both in the Room of Requirement and the Chamber of Secrets had wrought a certain change around the boy. His whole manner, the way he carried himself – it had changed dramatically since he'd first laid eyes on the boy nearly two years prior. Whereas before he had been a shy, pleasant seeming boy who kept to the shadows, now before him stood a boy who was well on his way to becoming a man; a boy who had more power at age twelve than most upon their completion of Hogwarts. And he remembered exactly why his ideals came into conflict with a man like Dumbledore's. What it was he was striving towards, moving forward and reimagining what Hogwarts could be.

It was for Harry.

This boy, Harry Potter, was everything a young wizard ought to be. Intelligent, powerful, willing to work hard and sacrifice but unwilling to compromise himself or his principles. In many ways, this was how people had seen Tom.

A young Tom Riddle had been very similar to Harry. A model student – perhaps even more so than Potter, as Harry's focus had not always manifested itself in the traditional modes of schooling – Riddle had also been powerful, driven, had far exceeded his classmates in terms of magical prowess from the very beginning. But he knew what many did not, what very few had realized. What Albus Dumbledore alone had seen. A young Tom Riddle contained a capacity for darkness, for destruction, that had run through his very core. It had nearly overcome him. The name that he had created for himself, it had haunted him ever since. A constant reminder stuck in the back of his head. He still had that core; he still had that potential within himself.

Harry Potter also had that potential. At this point in time, to Tom, it seemed less potent, farther from the surface, less likely to bubble up and consume the boy. Riddle knew that had the positions been reversed, even at the age of twelve, he would have mostly certainly ended Pettigrew's life without hesitation. But even so, he knew that it would not be so simple. Harry would have demons to conquer. He would have battles; he would have wars, directed both inside and out. Power like that simply could not come without a price. Magic didn't seem to allow it. He himself was evidence. Dumbledore, as well. The strongest element had always to overcome the inherent capacity for darkness, for danger, and for destruction. He himself had begun to train Harry to understand this darkness, to master it before it could consume him. He would continue working towards that aim. The allure of darkness is greatest towards those who remain ignorant to the true nature. Or those so cavalier as to embrace it. Harry was neither ignorant nor cavalier. He just seemed to understand, in a way that even Dumbledore never seemed to. Albus wouldn't condone his actions; Albus would frown upon the shepherding of students towards a path which could be construed as dangerous. But Dumbledore just didn't understand. It wasn't just about sheer strength, it wasn't about conquering.

When Dumbledore had faced his own demons, those within and without, they had convinced him that to be dark, to study that brand of magic meant to be a conqueror. That it was impossible to separate the desire for power from the desire for control. Tom Riddle disagreed.

He believed what he had said about Hogwarts, about the training of young witches and wizards. Hogwarts could not pander to the lowest element, could not be about merely producing adequate practitioners. No, while those who were of mediocre talent could certainly attend the school, it was not for them that he taught.

It was for Harry, and those like him; those with the capacity to change the world, to lift the country from its general malaise, its sink into stagnation and mediocrity.

He watched as Harry turned back to face him with green eyes blazing, Pettigrew bound and held in the background. He smiled lightly.

"You've done well tonight, Harry. You've done this school proud. We will absolutely talk about this at great length shortly. But it is late, and there are logistics regarding Pettigrew that must be undertaken with haste. So Harry, I ask you to leave him for me to deal with, and return to your dormitory for the evening. Tomorrow morning, Harry, we will talk."

Harry nodded, but did not yet turn to go. Riddle smirked.

"And Harry, if you do have trouble sleeping, you always have your upcoming exams to study for. I expect nothing but top marks, Mister Potter."

Harry managed to smile at this. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Thank you, professor. Headmaster. For everything, I truly am in your debt. But I want to see what happens to him. I… feel somehow responsible."

Tom shook his head, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. "You need not worry, Harry. I will neither dispatch of Peter nor alert the authorities yet. As I mentioned, he is yours to do with as you see fit. I simply need information. In the meanwhile, I would like you to decide what to do with him. If you would like him turned over to the authorities and returned to Azkaban that can certainly happen. But if anything else comes to you, Harry, alert me at once, and I'll see to it that it is done."

A thoughtful look came upon the boy's face. "When we talk tomorrow morning, professor, I'll have an answer for you. I know what I'd like to do, but I'm not sure it will work. You don't think he was here on his own, do you professor?"

Riddle shook his head. "I don't, Harry. I expect he is in some fashion related to those who helped to kidnap you and your godfather prior to this school year. He is, without a doubt, a death eater."

Harry nodded. "That's what I thought. In that case, I'll definitely have an answer by morning."

And with that, Harry turned and walked down the corridor and disappeared around the corner, a curious piece of parchment folded and tucked in his back pocket. As the echo from his steps became softer, Riddle turned back to face Peter Pettigrew, bound and held on the ground before him, a terribly frightened look plastered upon his face.

Tom Riddle regarded him impassively for a moment before speaking in decidedly silky tones, "And now, Peter, I'd like to have a little talk. I feel we have some important matters that need to be discussed."

He waved his wand and Pettigrew became rigid, petrified. With another careless wave the man began to shrink, becoming roughly the size of a small figurine. Riddle bent down and pocketed the man before standing and straightening his robes.

With a small sigh, he began to step quickly towards his office, several options for how best to proceed bouncing around his head. But he knew who he needed to talk to, who he needed to see.

He needed to find Lucius Malfoy.

But as Riddle turned, he felt a momentary shiver course through him. He stopped and peered through the dimly lit hallway. There was no one there.

Tom shook his head slightly and began to step forward. But there is was again. A very slight shiver fled throughout his body. His ears perked and he strained to hear any footstep, any rustle of robes, any sound whatsoever that could alert him to that… presence.

For that is what he felt. Tom Riddle knew that he was not alone in the hallway.

He took another step forward, and then another, just listening and flexing out with his senses in an attempt to find out exactly who was responsible.

And each step he took, another jolt was felt. It wasn't painful. It was a mere awareness making its self clear. And, to Riddle's way of thinking, it was mocking him. Toying with him.

And Tom Riddle was not someone to be toyed with.

And there it was. A soft whisper of a robe rustling directly behind him. With his next step he swiftly brandished his wand and swung around quickly on his heel, a variety of spells on the tip of his tongue.

There stood Evan Rosier, a calculating expression upon his face.

Riddle lowered his wand. "Evan. What are you doing?"

Rosier took a step forward and Riddle considered the man in front of him. His choice for the defense position had been relatively quiet for the majority of the year. After beginning the classes with a bang (with Riddle's blessing), he had seemed content to sit back, teach his class, and avoid the staffroom politics. Even Snape had nothing to say against the man, not that he trusted Snape's opinion in the slightest, but it was traditional for Severus to be… antagonistic towards whoever held that particular post.

It occurred to him that he had not in fact had much contact with the man throughout the school year. His mind had been cluttered with other, more important things. Harry being one of them, Lucius and his politics being another. But now, as he studied the piercing gaze of Evan Rosier, an acquaintance from his own school days, he realized that something about him had changed dramatically.

Riddle's hand grew tight upon his wand. "Evan, I ask you again. What are you doing here at this hour?"

Rosier paused for a moment before responding, in a thoughtful tone, "I thought I might observe the… festivities. Alas, I arrived too late to intercept Pettigrew, and by the time I appeared Harry had things well in hand. I chose to simply… observe your handling of the situation."

Riddle narrowed his eyes. The way in which the man spoke, his mannerisms and movement, told him one thing absolutely. He spoke harshly.

"You're not Evan. Who are you?"

Rosier smiled, and withdrew a small flask from his hip pocket. With one fluid motion he unscrewed the flask and turned it, draining the liquid from the flask.

Riddle recognized the substance at once, and immediately cursed himself for his lack of vigilance. "Polyjuice. Of course."

"Any moment now I should return to my original state. At that point, Tom, we can talk. For I think I would find having such a conversation in this body slightly… unpleasant."

Riddle gazed into the imposter's eyes; the dim light from the torches mounted down the corridor flickered, lending a slightly sinister feel to the air.

"No need to wait. I know who you are. I have only one question, Albus. Why?"

Dumbledore, in Rosier's body, sighed.

"Come, Tom. Let's retreat to my office. We've much to speak about."

Riddle held up a hand. "My office, Albus. Not yours."

Dumbledore nodded very slightly. "I stand corrected, Tom. Take me to your office then. Although I must admit it is unlikely you'll prevent me from offering a lemon drop."

Riddle, despite the seeming levity of the situation, could not help but chuckle slightly.

"You'll be disappointed. I don't keep them in stock."

"Well fortunately for the both of us, I happen to have a few on hand at all times. One never knows, after all, when the call for common courtesy might come – ah! It seems my time is up."

And Riddle watched as the body of Evan Rosier withered and shifted into that of Albus Dumbledore.

Riddle let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and took a step towards his office, his left hand brushing the outside of his pocket to ensure Pettigrew's continued presence there.

"All right then, Albus. We'll return to my office. And then we'll talk."

Albus looked over his half rim spectacles at his former protégé. "We have much to speak about, Tom. I look forward to it."

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David Fawcett awoke in a strange house in a bed that was not his own. It took him several moments to fully come to terms with his situation.

He wasn't home. He was with Lucius Malfoy, the man who had been minister. It seemed hard to believe that only yesterday morning he was on track to finish his training and take on the mantle of responsibility that was an auror's job. He had seen his share of action, to be sure. But he had lived all of his life in preparation for that one crystallizing moment, the chance to achieve one of the major goals he held in life.

And now that was over with. Gone. The opportunity thrown out the window. And for what? As he looked around the slowly brightening room, sunlight struggling to penetrate the blinds that had been drawn tight, he felt a weight just fall upon his shoulders. He had broken the law. Severely. It did not matter that Malfoy was innocent, that he did not deserve to have been imprisoned in the first place. Why hadn't he simply gone to his superiors with the information?

But he knew the answer to that. He knew his point of view wouldn't be taken in to consideration. Dumbledore had lost his position because of Malfoy. Now he had returned the favor.

He shivered when he recalled that Dumbledore had been in his office (that he had once shared with Tonks) waiting for him immediately after Lucius had been taken in to custody. He assumed that had he indeed met with the man, he would have left the room with a severely different outlook on the way events had unfolded. And not by choice.

So truly, how could he regret his decision? He had saved a man from an unjust fate (for the moment) and had stuck a thorn in Dumbledore's side. He once held only respect for the man, but his underhanded tactics stung something in Fawcett's moral code – and he realized that even a man as great as Dumbledore was not above revenge.

He looked up to survey his surroundings once again and noticed that a newspaper had been slid underneath his door. The Daily Prophet, he mused as he stood from his bed and stooped to lift the heavy paper from the floor.

He sat down on the bed once more without reading any headlines. He wasn't sure he wanted to read this. And he certainly wasn't sure that he wanted to read his name listed as a criminal. But what choice did he have? A part of him was absolutely curious to see what the Prophet would have to say.

And so he delved in to the story on the front page with a headline that screamed out "Minister of Magic: Murderer!" with frustration lining the every crease on his face. It was exactly what he had feared. The prophet painted it as if Lucius had been lying in wait outside Moody's dwelling and had ambushed the old auror. Of course, it had been the other way around, but the Prophet either didn't know or didn't care. He chucked the paper to the floor in disgust.

David Fawcett slowly rose, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the night prior. He let his hand rest lightly on his wand, the pulsing latent magic in the wood lending him some small measure of comfort. With a sigh he took a step forward, pushed the door open, and walked with his head held high into the foyer of Lucius Malfoy's hide away. He was a fugitive, true. But knowing he was in the right, that he was on the side of good – that made all the difference.

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Harry had been up all night. It was near morning, and he had not been able to fall asleep since returning from his bout with Pettigrew and conversation with Riddle. And in truth,

Harry was brooding. He needed to find Ron, but he couldn't go out again that night. He owed the other boy a real apology. And he wanted to tell him about Pettigrew, tell him how their training had paid off.

It was difficult for him to truly comprehend how close he'd come to death once again. It was a concerning pattern at the very least. Since starting at Hogwarts he'd been near death on at least two occasions, and he started to wonder just what he could do to avoid it. The danger was inevitable. Pettigrew would have killed him, he knew, if he hadn't been able to defend himself. He smirked at the thought of what Draco or Nott would have done in a similar situation. He didn't expect that either of his house mates would have survived the encounter.

He didn't have any delusions, though. Harry was well aware that he had survived by both luck and the element of surprise. Pettigrew had not expected such resistance, and had not been adequately prepared. He had to keep improving, he had to get stronger. There was no other option. Someone was after him. These people had captured and hurt Sirius in order to get to him. They were willing to send an assassin into Hogwarts itself. It was clear that nowhere could be completely safe. He could no longer afford to be anything but wary.

And he needed to keep practicing with the headmaster. He also wanted to continue training with Ron, and hoped the other boy would put the incident in the past. Once he explained about Pettigrew, he expected that his friend would let that momentary lapse in judgment pass. There were more important things to worry about.

Harry looked at the watch he wore on his left wrist and stood. It was nearing the time that the other Slytherins would make their descent into the common room and then down to breakfast. He did not want to be there when they arrived. They would have no idea, the lot of them. And he assumed Malfoy and the others would have noticed his absence. He didn't want to answer the questions that would inevitably come. Not yet.

And so he made his way through the entrance to the dormitory and began the ascent into Hogwarts proper. As he walked, he decided that it was late enough to visit the headmaster's office. He'd been there at odd hours before, and Professor Riddle had never failed to be there waiting. He felt that parchment Pettigrew had used in his back pocket and decided that, while he should probably turn it in, it was far too valuable of a tool to let out of his possession.

He took the twists and turns through the castle, passing where he'd first seen Pettigrew with something akin to wonder. It felt to him as if it had been weeks ago that he'd encountered the man.

It had been a long night.

And there he was, at the entrance to the tower that was the office of the headmaster, Tom Riddle. He spoke what he knew to be the password (ambition) and stepped past the gargoyle's who stood guard and up the spiral staircase.

As he neared the office itself, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something about the situation just felt… wrong. He drew his wand and endeavored to move as silently as possible up the stairs. He smoothly pushed open the door and stepped quickly inside, positioning his back against the wall and raising his wand, a number of spells on the tip of his tongue.

And then he stopped. His wand fell to his side.

The office was absolutely trashed. Riddle's bookcases had been blown apart, shreds of paper clouded the marble floor in every direction; splinters of wood peppered the ground dangerously. The massive oak desk had been overturned, shelves opened and emptied on the ground. The windows in the room had been shattered outwards, and Harry could feel a slight chill in the air and a slight current of air passing from one window to the next.

The room was in shambles.

And then he heard a noise. Harry swung around, wand once again raised, his green eyes blazing. And he saw him. A shock of white hair fell about the man's aged face, his robes tattered and in disarray. He was sitting in the corner of the room, his wand resting on the ground beside him. His face had been torn and dried and caked blood could be seen above his eyes, resulting from a massive slice in the man's forehead. But he was alive, he was breathing, and his piercing blue eyes were aimed directly at him. And then, Albus Dumbledore spoke.

"Good morning, Harry."

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And there we are. Read and Review!


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Hey all, sorry for the long delay on this chapter. I just completed my long anticipated move to New York City and my job plus an internship have taken up just about all of my time. But I'm still writing and don't plan to abandon this any time soon.

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Also, if you haven't done so, check out the DLP C2 linked in my profile. It's the best collection of fics this side of the DLP Library, you won't regret it.

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Without further ado:

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**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

"Lemon Drop?"

Tom raised an eyebrow and slightly shook his head. With a shrug, Albus Dumbledore withdrew one of the small candies from an unseen pouch and popped it in to his mouth.

The two were seated opposite one another across the large oaken desk, Dumbledore with a serene confidence radiating from his posture as Tom sat more rigidly, tension evident in his face and shoulders.

"Albus," Tom started, "I'm not going to sit here and play games with you. There was a time that you held control, that you were the one I looked up to. But no more. Today, we are equals. And so I will not tolerate your condescension. No longer, especially not after you've been illegally infiltrating my school."

A slight smile played on Dumbledore's lips as he nodded slightly. "Then by all means, Tom, ask your question."

Tom's wand hand twitched slightly, a motion that did not go unheeded by either party. Dumbledore peered at the younger man, his former protégé, from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles and simply waited for him to speak.

"What are you doing here, Albus?"

The old man sighed and spoke softly. "This is my home, Tom. I would not be so easily removed. In truth, I'm here to help."

Tom's expression remained neutral. "You have no more right to call it that. You no longer reside here. You are not the headmaster."

"And yet you among all others should recall how this castle never leaves the heart. If you call it home even once, it will always be so. You know this from personal experience, Tom. It is why you returned here after so much time. It is why you always clamored for a position here, and why you were so determined to remain here in the summers of your youth."

"I was an orphan," Tom snarled slightly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you were. And in Hogwarts you found a place where you could finally belong, a place that called to you."

"This isn't an answer, Dumbledore."

"No?" Albus asked as he raised an eyebrow lightly, "I'd thought it the beginning of a rather eloquent explanation."

Tom gazed at the old man for a moment before sitting back in his chair. "Then by all means, continue."

"Certainly." And here the former headmaster a paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I'm here because I have concerns, Tom. And I am sorry to say that my time at this school under your reign has not alleviated them in full. In fact, in some ways I am even more concerned than ever regarding your handling of the school and its students."

Tom's eyes flashed. "You infiltrate my school, disable my teacher and good friend Evan Rosier and somehow still have the gall to lecture me? I'm beginning to believe that Lucius may have been correct after all. Your best days may well be behind you."

"And yet Lucius is now on the run, and my suspicions of the man and his cohorts have been proven to be well founded. You still would maintain a link with him?"

"The circumstances surrounding the death of Moody are still too murky for me to trust without question that which is printed by the Daily Prophet. You once would have advocated for the same caution."

Albus shook his head. "Tom, he was arrested. The man has long had ties to the dark arts and those who practice them. I am simply looking out for you."

Tom stood up. "And I no longer need your protection."

Albus Dumbledore's face was grave. "No. Now it is others who need protection from you."

There was a moment of pause, and then Tom spoke, "What do you mean?"

"Harry Potter."

Tom sat slowly. "What is your concern?"

"You are teaching him dark magic." Dumbledore said flatly.

And Tom Riddle nodded. "Yes. He is a brilliant student, Albus. He deserves exposure to the true powers that magic can harness."

Albus spoke, a distinct edge present in his voice. "He is merely a child, Tom. He is not ready for that sort of danger."

"And yet it must have been you, in your defense class, who first exposed him to it."

"Had that knowledge I gave him not been corrupted by your teachings he would have found the power too dangerous, too frightening to continue to study it. None of the others in his class or indeed the rest of Hogwarts were so induced by my lesson. And that is because you have spent the majority of this year encouraging Harry to make the same mistakes you have. I had such high hopes for you, Tom."

Riddle stood. "Dumbledore, you trained me as a weapon because you were too afraid to fight."

"And aren't you doing the same?"

"We are not at war, Albus," Tom said softly.

A grim smile played across the old man's face. "Not yet, Tom. But you know as well as I that we will not be so fortunate as to escape one."

"And who is the enemy?"

Albus stood himself, slowly rising to match the other man. "I have begun to fear, Tom, that it may well be you."

"How dare you?"

Albus took a step forward. "Tom Riddle, you'd have had a twelve year old boy commit murder this very evening. Can you not realize how far you've fallen?"

Tom resisted the impulse to step backwards as he responded, "He had the right, Dumbledore. The rat, Pettigrew, he's the reason Harry has no family. No parents. There is no sin more egregious than that of creating an orphan. Pettigrew deserves no better than death."

Albus sighed wearily. "That is not your judgment to make."

Tom matched the old man's sigh as he spoke. "What would you have me do, Albus? I'm preparing him for the world. I'm creating excellence in this school. I'm creating a place for students who are driven, motivated, and talented. Students like we were. Students like Harry."

"And for those who are not exceptional? For those who are average? For those who make up the vast majority of the world? What of them?"

"Dumbledore, look –"

Dumbledore did not wait for Tom's response. "In either case, your overall aims for the school are not in and of themselves why I'm here. I have far greater concerns."

An ugly look manifested itself upon Riddle's face. "And I would prefer it if you no longer were here at all. Leave, Dumbledore. I do not have to sit and explain myself to you."

Rather than responding immediately, Dumbledore simply sat back in his chair. A moment passed in silence while Tom remained standing. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"Voldemort."

There was a pause, and then Tom Riddle sat heavily.

"What do you make of that name, Tom?"

Tom closed his eyes as pain flitted across his face.

"Tom?"

He opened his eyes and asked, "Where did you hear that name?"

"I've known of it for decades, from your school days. And I'd hoped to never hear it again."

Tom looked directly into Dumbledore's eyes. "You can't know how much that name haunts me."

"I'm afraid, Tom."

Riddle gazed at the wand in his hand for several moments before looking back up at his old mentor, a bite evident in his voice. "I won't let it happen."

"I worry that you are not in control. That your nature is what it is. You've managed to evade it admirably for years, and yet –"

Riddle's muscles tensed. "You're quite daring this evening, Dumbledore. You not only insult my handling of this school and its most gifted student but you also dare to imply that I am not in control. If that were true, Albus, you wouldn't be sitting there so comfortably."

"It is not too late. Things are not yet too far gone."

Tom stood and gestured to the door. "You know the way out, Albus. Go. You're no longer welcome in this school."

Albus smiled grimly. "There's a delicious bit of irony here, Tom. You are treating me as if I am the usurper when indeed it is you who worked behind my back to gain your current position."

Riddle grimaced. "It was not by design, I assure you. I disagreed with Malfoy but had no authority by which to stop him. His political maneuverings have always been layered deeply. Once he made his decision the result was inevitable."

Albus waved a hand as if to brush this statement aside. "In either case, this conversation is irrelevant. It is difficult to imagine a scenario in which you would be returning to this position next year."

Tom's eyes flashed. "And why do you say that?"

Albus smiled grimly once again. "Everything associated with the Malfoy name is being discredited and thoroughly inspected as we speak. You are here by his graces, and that debt will be examined with a fine comb. And it seems likely to me that they will look at you, despite your record, and see a professor with only a year's worth of teaching experience who was handed the highest educational position in the country leapfrogging several candidates with more deserving resumes and they'll have to wonder, Tom, they will have to wonder what promises you made to get yourself in the position you are today."

And in a moment of clarity, a realization struck Tom Riddle. "It was you. You engineered Malfoy's fall."

Albus sighed. "He did kill Alastor Moody. There's nothing to engineer, he brought it upon himself."

Tom took a step forward and Dumbledore stood in response.

Tom spoke in a dangerous tone, "Moody worked for you. Went by your orders. There was something he was doing; you've long looked to discredit Malfoy –"

"The man is dangerous. He sympathizes with the dark and has worked to enhance and enable the prejudices already to present in our world."

Tom took another step forward and Dumbledore's hand went to his wand.

"And you knew that taking Malfoy down meant you'd be damaging me as well. And you didn't care. Despite everything I've done for you, despite everything we've gone through together. Despite everything, Albus, you still believe in what Gellert Grindelwald preached. For the greater good, is that it?"

And Dumbledore actually chuckled. "Tom, despite your age and power there is still so little you understand. You make the dangerous assumption that you are no longer my student when you still have so much to learn."

And finally, Tom Riddle drew his wand. "I have surpassed you, Dumbledore. You must know this. Now kindly leave this school before I am forced to remove you."

Dumbledore drew his wand as well to match the younger man. "I will not leave, Tom. This is my home, and I will protect it for as long as I am able. At the moment, that means not allowing you any further dominion over the residents here."

And with a howl of rage, Tom Riddle's eyes went blank and a bolt of power channeled through his wand and went hurling towards the old man. With a grim look, Dumbledore shielded himself and the two energies collided with a shot.

"Tom. Don't do this. Go, peacefully, and we can still resolve this. Don't make me strike, please, Tom. I'm begging you. Look at yourself rationally for a moment, see what you've become. I know what happened that day I came for you, a year ago. I know you aren't a killer, but you're dangerously close. You tread a fine line, my friend. I don't want you to step to the wrong side."

But the old man's protestations fell on deaf ears. There was a moment of pause, a moment of calm as the two faced one another, fury on the side of one and real grief on the other. In that moment the life of Tom Riddle flashed before Dumbledore's eyes, from the boy who had grown up into the greatest auror that England had ever seen to the man who stood before him now. Powerful, passionate, and dangerous. And for a moment, Albus Dumbledore was truly afraid.

And then Voldemort struck.

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Harry stood framed in the entrance to the headmaster's office, shock not allowing him to voice any one of the questions that were whirring through his mind. He watched with an almost detached fascination as his old professor, Albus Dumbledore, stood shakily from the wreckage. The man's robes were tattered and torn and his face and arms were caked with blood that was already several hours old. As he took his feet a soft gasp escaped his lips, prompting Harry to shake himself from his stupor and move towards the man in an offer of help. Dumbledore, however, waved Harry off.

"I'm afraid the wounds are not as severe as they might seem. But I appreciate the sentiment," Dumbledore whispered softly.

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared openly at the old man whose beard, he noticed, had been singed and frayed. A moment passed in silence as the former professor managed to pace across the room and pause at the overturned oaken desk that was missing two of its legs. Finally, Harry managed to bring to voice the question that was of the utmost importance in his mind.

"Sir? What happened here? Where's Professor Riddle?"

It was with a heavy sigh that Dumbledore responded. "Harry, I would have you sit, but alas, this office is no place for such a discussion at the moment."

And Harry, frayed from a long night of little sleep and adrenaline, snapped back at the most powerful wizard alive, "I'm not leaving. I have to know what happened here. I have to, and I won't go."

Dumbledore managed a small smile. "Harry, I wasn't meaning to insinuate that I would not speak to you. I was merely suggesting that this might not be the ideal location. Take my arm, if you will, and we'll find a more suitable place for this conversation."

Harry looked at the former headmaster's proffered arm with a mix of apprehension and another emotion that he could not quite name, but it felt almost like pride – which was a feeling that really had no place being present at that moment, but he could not help himself. There was no other student so privileged as to be privy to such important events as this one.

"But sir, what about the school? Who will look after it?" Harry asked, trying to rid himself of that unfamiliar feeling.

Albus smiled lightly as Fawkes, his phoenix familiar appeared in a cloud of smoke upon his shoulder. "No need for concern, Harry. I had just finished informing Minerva of the situation prior to your arrival. She will take over, and I'm certain, handle the running of the school admirably."

Harry nodded and Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height.

"Now, if you'll take my arm, Harry, we will be off."

Harry clasped the man's robe covered arm and in a flash of light and flame they were gone.

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"Sir? Where are we?"

The two had arrived at what appeared to be a very small and very cramped library. The room was adorned with several old and battered posters and lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves on each wall and even the wooden door itself. In the midst of these were several plush velvet lined chairs and a small old study table with a well used set of quills and bottle of ink lying across several parchments that had been left strewn upon its surface. The setting smelled in a way that was reminiscent of the dusty pages of books left unused for many years.

Albus Dumbledore gestured for Harry to sit and settled himself down in one of the soft and comfy chairs. "We're at my home, Harry. Welcome to my estate."

Harry looked around. While there were many books, some of which were lying in piles on the floor, Harry had assumed that a man of Dumbledore's stature would be able to afford living in a home with a far grander seeming library. As he surveyed the surroundings, Dumbledore chuckled.

"No doubt you are wondering why my home is not so… grandiose as you may have expected. But the truth is that I have never desired very much in the way of material comfort. I have never had much use for ornate finery, and impressing others with my personal possessions has never been a passion of mine."

Harry nodded softly and continued to wait. Dumbledore let out another heavy sigh before lifting up one of the quills that had been scattered across the desk. Rolling the quill between his fingers, the old man began to speak.

"I am honestly at an impasse here, Harry."

Harry looked at the man quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Harry, that I do not know exactly where to start. Or what exactly to tell you."

Harry's piercing eyes made contact with the dull blue of the old man's. "I'd suggest the truth, professor. And you could start at the beginning."

Albus Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "You must understand, Harry, there are some things that I cannot and will not tell you. You are yet young and have many years ahead of you. In good time, when things are right, I will tell you what you need to know."

Harry nodded. "I do understand that, professor. I wouldn't expect you to confide in me your darkest secrets."

Dumbledore gave him the ghost of a smile and continued, "There's no way to level this statement gently, I fear. So I must be blunt. Harry, this evening your professor, Tom Riddle, attacked me in the headmasters office at Hogwarts. I defended myself and drove him from the castle."

Harry's mind was filled with questions and he managed to ask one that seemed quite pertinent at that moment. "What were you even doing at the school, professor?"

At this Dumbledore had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "In truth, Harry, I have been at Hogwarts for the entire year. You have never had a class from the real Evan Rosier at all. Instead, I have taken his place."

Harry's jaw dropped. Of every revelation possible, this was least expected. Mainly because of the ramification that formed in Harry's mind. "You taught me dark magic."

And the headmaster's face grew stern. "No, Harry. I had hoped you would understand. I taught you the dangers of the dark, the allure. I showed you because I believe knowledge is the necessary weapon which we must employ in the fight against the dark. I had assumed you would understand."

Harry sat back in his chair. "Professor, I understand all that. But I also understand that knowing the magic I do has saved my life in the past, not even twenty four hours ago I used it to save myself fighting Pettigrew. That's why I'm learning, professor. I need to be strong."

Albus Dumbledore sat forward intently. "Harry, look at me. I do not often… what is the phrase? Toot my own horn. But would you consider me strong?"

Harry nodded. "Of course."

Dumbledore continued to gaze at the boy. "Indeed. I am not a practitioner of the dark arts, Harry. There are other ways to strength. They may be more difficult, but they do not corrupt. To take the easy way, to search for shortcuts is to shortchange the true nature of magic. For that is what the dark champions: ease of use, power at no expense, gaining something for nothing. Consider for a moment, Harry, your own situation. You are vastly stronger than your classmates, predominately on account of your natural talent but also as a result of your forays into the surface realm of dark magic."

Harry nodded once more. "Yes, professor, that's true."

"But Harry," Dumbledore continued, "you must understand that the power you have now is twisted. Think for a moment of your age. How many of your classmates, twelve years old for the most part, would you trust with the power to kill? Power you yourself possess. There is a natural order to things, Harry, and to acquire too much too quickly is to bypass these natural laws that govern the safe use of magic. And this evening has proven to me more than ever that once those laws are broken, once a man turns down that path, redemption is almost impossible."

Harry looked up. "You mean Professor Riddle."

"I do. Unfortunately, as a young man not much older than yourself, Tom Riddle allowed himself to be seduced by the promised powers of the dark. He was always a brilliant student; he was crafting his own spells while still in his fourth year. In many ways, he surpassed even my own achievements in many academic subjects. I saw his promise, but I also saw the danger inherent in his activity. I took him from Hogwarts during his seventh year and trained him. It was a time of great conflict and his assistance was invaluable in stemming the tide of Grindelwald and the invading armies. He grew and seemed to conquer the demons that had once clawed as his integrity. But once the war ended his purpose became less clear, and he traveled the world in search of… something. Something that could lend him purpose, meaning, for a man so gifted cannot be satisfied by an ordinary life. Years passed in which I did not see the man, my apprentice, or even hear of his whereabouts. It was only a few years before his appointment at Hogwarts that we regained contact. I do not know what happened, but this evening Tom Riddle lost himself, at least for a moment, in a way that is absolutely terrifying to me. Because he is my friend, and I do not want to have to hunt him."

Harry took a deep breath. "Sir? Is there still hope?"

Albus looked gravely at Harry over his rimmed spectacles still damaged from the fight. "For Tom? I hope so, Harry, but I can't be certain. I will give him as many opportunities as possible, for I do not want to lose a man who has done so much for our world, and for whom I care a great deal."

Harry looked down once more, unsure of what to say. Minutes passed in silent consideration before Albus Dumbledore spoke.

"Harry, I have a proposition for you, if you will hear it."

Harry raised his eyes to the old man and nodded slightly.

And he spoke once more. "Now hear me out, Harry, before you respond. Do you promise to do so?"

Harry nodded again and Dumbledore paused before finally making his statement.

"Harry, I would like you to leave Hogwarts."

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And that's that. Read and review!


	23. Chapter 23

So hey all. Should probably mention that this is the last chapter of The Other Side of the Coin. I currently have two sequels plotted, the first of which already has a fixed outline and is in the writing stages at the moment. But yeah, here's the chapter!

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**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

The wind swept through his hair, great gusts raising swirls of dust and sand that brushed across the robes of Harry Potter as he crouched, motionless, taking in the greatest sight he'd ever been privileged to observe. But as he sat in awe he realized that it was more than mere sight, it was more than mere visual spectacle. There was a feeling, a sense of something so vast and great - his struggles seemed meaningless by comparison. The midday sun was beginning to wane as the boy waited, hands dangling between his knees, in complete silence.

A hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore stood to the boy's side, his face relaxed, the lines of weariness that had been quite evident had begun to fade away. And in a low, reverent tone, he spoke.

"It is a reminder, Harry, that sights of importance were once built on places of great energy. Muggles and Wizards alike, our ancestors all, took in this energy. They could feel it and recognize it and they migrated to those places in a search for comfort, or maybe more. There are simply places that defy language entirely. We realize just how little we can say. I could never hope to describe the power of a place like this, like Persepolis. And so I had no choice to show you."

Harry slowly stood, breathing deeply as he turned in a circle taking in the place and its sheer presence around him. The ancient columns and carvings of such skill, the ruins of the once majestic city represented the grace of an ancient history of which Harry realized himself to be woefully ignorant. The history of his people, of magic, or the origins. How could a place like this come to be?

Dumbledore continued. "Hogwarts school itself was founded on a site similar in concept to this one. The school's location is no accident. But we acclimate ourselves, Harry, if we stay too long, if we remain in one place it is impossible for that power to remain. Harry, do you remember when you first saw Hogwarts? Your first moments in the castle? You were overwhelmed, were you not? There were many reasons for this, but despite having little to no magical awareness you would still have felt some of the pull, some of the presence. If you were to live here, Harry, in Persepolis, eventually it would become common place, and your sensitivity would wane. It is inevitable."

Harry turned to look at the man, having been scanning the ruins throughout his speech. "And you want me to leave Hogwarts because of that?"

"More than most, Harry, you will benefit from a deep understanding of what it is that makes a place matter, gives it importance. For most students this sort of awareness is unnecessary, there would be nothing they could do with it. But you've such talent, Harry, such a breadth of possibility inherent in your future. I would be remiss if I did not encourage growth in you as much as possible. And for you, that means that I believe you would gain more from a different sort of schooling than your peers."

Harry thought for a moment. "What sort of schooling do you suggest, professor? Send me to another school instead of Hogwarts so that I might recognize that feeling again?"

Albus smiled and shook his head. "No, Harry, not that."

"Then what?"

Albus took a step forward. "Travel with me, Harry Potter. Together we will explore the world and all it has to offer. I will teach you myself."

Harry took a deep breath. He let it go in a soft exhale and took another, deeper, breath.

"I'd be leaving my friends. I'd be leaving Hogwarts, the first place I've had anyone besides Sirius. Also, what about him?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I've contacted your godfather, and he has given the expedition his blessing. He would, of course, like to see you before we begin on our trek. If you accept, of course. You are perfectly welcome to return to Hogwarts, Harry. I do not mean to pressure you."

Harry looked up at the old man, green eyes shining through the twilight. "Professor Riddle offered me something similar, Professor. He wanted to teach me and he made me more powerful, more skilled by far than I had been prior. And I never really asked him a question that now I realize should have been the first thing I thought of."

"And what would that be, Harry?"

Harry exhaled audibly before answering. "Why? What do you want from me? What is it that you hope to gain from this, from my traveling with you?"

Dumbledore fixed his eyes on Harry's and spoke earnestly, "In my youth, Harry, I was almost entirely alone. I was a prodigy that nobody knew how to address, my power was great and my mind was keen. And I realized at a certain point that there was no limit to what I could do – there were few people in the world who could challenge my power and I could shape the world to my will. You know of my experiences with Gellert Grindlewald, you know some of the details of my sordid past. I have wished, many times, that there had been someone to just show me that what I was doing… the power and responsibility I thought I had… it wasn't what mattered. It was not my prerogative to merely remake the world in my image. It took a man even more dangerous than myself for me to realize this. I almost lost my brother in the process.

Harry, you are a better person at your young age than I ever was. I wouldn't expect you to ever abuse your power as I did. But I dream of more than that for you, more than a mere existence within the confines of our current contemporary society. I want to see you grow, Harry Potter. You could change the world in a far better way than I ever have or could.

And I won't deny that I feel some burden of responsibility, Harry, for your situation. Growing up without parents, betrayed and abandoned, it was all Grindlewald, and I couldn't stop him. I never could. I had the power, but not the force of will.

In truth, there is nothing personally I hope to gain other than the privilege of your company. I wish to help you along your path to greatness. For one way or another, you will be great."

There was a silence after this pronouncement as Harry tried to process all that the old man had said. The wind picked up and Harry felt goosebumps crawl up his arms, the cool air whipping through his hair, a quiet whistling piercing the air around him. And Dumbledore waited, remaining silent as well. Several minutes passed in this way before Harry finally spoke.

"I want to learn, Professor. I want to be more than I am. With your help, professor, I can be. I will be. I'll go, sir. I want to go with you. I want to see the world."

Dumbledore beamed, a wide smile breaking across his face. He drew from his robes a small, pristine book and handed it to Harry who took it curiously.

"Then this, Harry, will be your only textbook."

As there was no title on the cover, Harry opened it and flipped through the pages. He looked back up at his mentor-to-be curiously.

"It's empty."

Dumbledore chuckled. "So it is, Harry. And you will fill it. With everything you learn, everywhere we go, everything you encounter. And so you will write your own textbook, and in that way you will catalogue for all time your memories as they are in the moment – clear, precise, accurate. When you have filled that book, Harry, you may begin another one. And so we will proceed until you come of age. I tell you now, Harry, that these times will not always be easy, and I will be hard on you. I have an obligation as a teacher to take you as far as I can, and I will do so. I tell you now, Harry, so that you are prepared."

Harry smiled lightly. "I am prepared, professor. I won't let you down."

Albus returned the smile. "And I know that you won't. We will do great things, Harry Potter. I can feel it. I can just feel it. Can't you?"

And Harry nodded.

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"You're really leaving?"

Ron Weasley looked at his friend as they both sat on the side of the Hogwarts lake, their feet dangling above the water, toes occasionally breaking the surface and creating small ripples that spread across the calm and tranquil body of water.

Harry nodded solemnly. "I have to. I have to, Ron. I can't turn away this opportunity."

Ron sighed and looked down at his hands. "I understand that, Harry. But what about us? What about what we've been learning, our training? There's a reason, Harry, that we wanted to be strong."

Harry managed a small smile. "Ron, I'll be training with Dumbledore. I'm not worried about that."

Ron shook his head. "No, you shouldn't be. But what about me?"

"What do you mean?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I'll have to keep working on my own. I'm not a pushover, Harry, and I don't want to be treated like one."

Harry started to object. "Ron, nobody thinks that -"

Ron interrupted quickly. "They don't say it out loud, of course not. They just ignore me, Harry. Think about it, you've had both Riddle and Dumbledore vying to teach you. But you aren't so much better than me right now, Harry. You've got a bit of a better grasp of some things, but I could outduel anyone in our year other than you. I know it, Harry. But nobody seems to care about that. I mean, come on, things are in disarray right now and Dumbledore doesn't even seem to care that he caused it. We have no defense class and McGonagall's had to take over as Headmistress now that Riddle left – which nobody knows why that happened, by the way."

Harry looked at his best friend and spoke sincerely, "Ron. I'm sorry."

Ron started to speak, but Harry continued, "I'm sorry for everything. For what happened when we dueled, for leaving you now. I'm sorry that I won't be here to keep working with you. But know that I damned well don't expect you to stop. You're an ambitious freak, Ron, and I don't know how you didn't wind up in Slytherin with me."

Ron laughed. "Don't insult me, Harry. That's just low."

Harry smiled also and soon they were both chuckling.

"And you have your brothers, your sister, you have family here. It will be okay, Ron."

Ron nodded. "I know that. Things have just been crazy and it seems like it all revolves around you, somehow. You're important, Harry. Hell, I wouldn't turn down Dumbledore either. Wouldn't be reasonable for me to expect that you would."

Harry sat back on his hands. "I'll visit, Ron. I'm sure I'll see you often enough. And over the summers, also. Sirius said we could visit, I'm sure he'll be fine with that. You'll have to tell me about everything that happens here. Feel free to keep Malfoy in his place, I'll support you on that one. "

Ron laughed. "Oh don't worry, I intend to."

The redhead looked up at the waning sky over Hogwarts and stood. "It's about dinnertime, Harry. You coming?"

Harry shook his head. "Give me a moment. I'd just like to sit here for a few minutes. I'll be up soon."

Ron nodded. "I'll see you there, then."

Harry smiled. "Sounds good."

Harry turned back to look over the lake as Ron began to walk towards the main castle doors. Harry sighed softly and closed his eyes, trying to reach out and feel that presence – the one he'd felt in Persepolis. And he lost himself for a few moments, simply trying to calm himself the way he'd been there, where he'd been able to crouch for minutes at a time without even a twitch.

But here Harry could not find that center. He opened his eyes and to his surprise felt another presence next to his own. He turned his head and his eyes widened in shock.

Tom Riddle's blue eyes pierced Harry's own, the older man's posture mimicking Harry's own, sitting at the edge of the lake. And then he spoke.

"A moment of your time, Harry?"

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"You shouldn't be here."

Riddle sighed as he turned to look at the raven haired boy. In all honesty it was hard for him to believe that it had only been a few days prior that he'd been teaching the boy down in the Chamber of Secrets, that they'd been as close as any student and headmaster had been since his own youth. He'd grown inordinately fond of the boy, far more so than he had ever anticipated. He was intelligent, quick on his feet, and just so open. In many ways he was a blank slate, thirsting to learn and turning aside nothing. It was just one of the traits Riddle admired him for.

Harry spoke again. "Sir?"

Riddle paused for a moment before finally responding. "By now Albus certainly is aware of my presence at this school. No doubt he has divined my purpose here. He could have turned me away before if he'd liked. For the moment, I am allowed."

And saying that brought a grimace to his wizened features. The mere concept of not being welcome at the one place he called home more than any other… it was a nightmare. And he had brought it upon himself. In the night that had passed after his battle with Dumbledore he began to reflect and reconsider his course of action. Fighting with his old mentor, he knew, had severed whatever remained of the bond they had once shared. There was no going back for them, not in this lifetime. And he was forced to wonder whether or not he had been correct. Should he have pushed Harry so? Was the boy too young to handle the strain? He may well have transferred his own feelings, his own readiness, his own darkness upon the boy.

That wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted Harry to be able to make a choice. Not to be forced one way or another, coerced into following a dogma with which he did not truly identify, but rather to walk forward, head held high, confident in the path he'd chosen.

Riddle knew that he'd never been afforded that consideration. That was Dumbledore's mistake. And he vowed to not make a similar one. Because to live the way that he did, with power great enough to enact change but no circumstances right for judicious use of said power, that was torture. At Hogwarts he had a place where he could shape the future of the wizarding world for the better. But outside, as he was now, there was no way to change what was coming. The inevitable stagnation of wizarding kind that he foresaw in the near future.

He shook his head to clear the cobwebs away and brought himself back to the conversation at hand.

"Harry, what did Albus tell you regarding my… exit from the school?"

Harry thought for a moment. "You fought him. He thought you were trying to lead me down a path that would be dangerous for the both of us. You disagreed. The conversation escalated and turned violent. Dumbledore defeated you, and you fled."

Riddle ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that to Harry made him seem decades younger.

"I… I should not have reacted in the way I did, Harry. And I've considered some of my actions with you over the course of this school year… Harry, I will not lie to you. Dumbledore and I do not necessarily see eye to eye regarding judicious use of magic and power. I believe that if one has the power to shape the world then they must use that power as they can to create a better society for those who are weaker. We must protect those who cannot protect themselves. And I believe that we must also protect society from weakening itself, from becoming soft. There are millions around us, muggles I mean, who would do our world harm were they to know. And their ignorance is not inevitable. The status quo cannot be maintained for much longer. And there must be a solution, there must be foresight."

Harry interrupted him. "But I don't see what this has to do with last night, with Dumbledore, why you two had to fight. I don't understand it. You can disagree without hating one another."

"The struggle, Harry, was decades in the making. Last night was merely the final culmination of a long history of tension between the two of us."

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't buy that. I don't believe that had to happen. Look, sir, Professor Dumbledore told me something about the nature of power that, looking at you, looking at him, looking even at myself I believe must be true."

Riddle looked at him curiously and waved him on.

Harry continued, "He told me that too much power acquired too quickly, too easily, that power will inevitably corrupt. Lead one down a road of doing what is easy rather than what is right. Sir, I've been working very hard this year. But I'm capable of things that I would not trust in the hands of anyone else in my year. You asked me to kill a man, professor. And I could have done it. I could have killed him. You don't understand how much that terrifies me."

Riddle almost smiled. "Harry, the mere fact that you worry about this is the reason I trust you with such ability, with such strength. You have a good heart, Harry. And I trust you more than any other person alive."

Riddle watched as Harry looked down at his feet, still skimming the surface of the lake. It was remarkable how the boy's attitude shifted. There were moments where he seemed so possessed, so much older than his actual age would indicate. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, these were not the characteristics of most twelve year olds. The boy was a prodigy in every sense of the world.

And yet he was still a boy. A boy who had been burdened by the mechanisms of older wizards ever since his introduction into the wizarding world. He and Dumbledore had not allowed Harry to be a normal child. His defeat of Grindlewald as a child, his celebrity status made that difficult enough. And both he and Dumbledore had contributed.

But Harry would be better off for it. Of this he was certain. It would be hard, and there would be times that Harry would resent them both. Would resent that his path was so difficult. But he would persevere.

"I'm leaving." Harry said softly.

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Harry sighed. "I mean I'm leaving Hogwarts."

Riddle looked at Harry incredulously. "What do you mean? Why on earth would you leave Hogwarts?"

And Harry looked away from Riddle's gaze. "I don't even know I should phrase this. I'll be blunt, I guess. I'm leaving Hogwarts with Professor Dumbledore. He's going to teach me personally."

Riddle stood. "You're leaving. And so is Dumbledore? He won't be the headmaster?"

Harry nodded. "It'll be McGonagall, I'm guessing."

Riddle looked at Harry sadly. "But why, Harry? Hogwarts is home. I would never voluntarily turn it aside. I would never ask you to do so either."

"Then why did you come here?"

Riddle was surprised by the change of subject and sat forward quickly, taking Harry by the shoulder and speaking in a low, harsh tone.

"Harry. I am not here to take you away to a far off land and train you in the dark arts. I am not here to corrupt you and turn you away from whatever path you may be on. I am not here to hurt you. I am here to make you understand. I don't know everything that Dumbledore told you about me, but you need to be clear on this. I'm here because I want you to understand that my actions last night were wrong. I have damaged whatever standing I had and have likely done irreplaceable damage to my future and any chance I had of remaining at this school, this place that I call home. I am here, speaking to you now, because I need you to understand something. You will have a hard journey ahead of you, whichever way you go. You have great power, and there will always be demands made of you based both on this and on your celebrity. You will have many choices to make, but I wish more than anything to remind you that the choices you make are your own, they belong to no one else. Not Dumbledore and not I. You and you alone will face the repercussions of the path you choose, and so you must make it yourself. Dumbledore will certainly attempt to guide you. He is not wrong for doing so, you are young and he is a brilliant man. But remember what I said here. And if you ever find yourself in need of help, if ever you do not know where to turn, I will be there. I will always be willing to help you, Harry. You need only ask."

And with that, Tom Riddle stood and turned away as Harry sat transfixed, his feet finally submerging into the water entirely. Before Riddle could walk away, though, Harry shouted out a question.

"How will I find you? I mean, if I ever… if something happens."

Riddle turned back to look at him with a small smile. "If at any time you truly need my assistance and wish for my presence, Harry, I'll know."

And then, with a smile, Tom Riddle was gone.

Harry remained by the side of the lake for several more hours, simply pondering all that had occurred over his two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He would miss his time at the school; miss his friends and his classes. But as he sat he could not help but be exciting by the prospects ahead of him. He would see the world. And when he returned, he would be in the position where he could do what Riddle could not.

He would change the world. Of this, Harry Potter was certain.

And he was right.

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A/N: So, that's the end of the final chapter (although there will be an epilogue). Look out for the first chapter of the sequel to be posted sooner rather than later. Obviously there's a lot of story left undone, so don't worry. We'll get to it all eventually. Read and Review!


	24. Epilogue

**EIPILOGUE**

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It was an unseasonably cool evening as Harry finally sat down to rest. The trek had been harder than he had anticipated, and a smiling Dumbledore had refused to transport them via apparition. Instead, the old man had smiled and noted that a bit of physical exercise was good for a growing boy. And as they walked Harry found, to his frustration, that he could hardly keep up with the wizened wizard's healthy pace through the thickening brush.

They'd walked for several hours, skirting some places through the forest that seemed to Harry to be disquieting at the least. Dumbledore had again and again reminded Harry to stick to the path that had been cleared, and Harry was careful to obey this directive completely.

They had arrived at a clearing in the wood and set up camp. Harry truthfully had no idea where he actually was. There had been a point during the trip where Harry realized that while, yes, they were merely walking; something else was in play as well. Some other force of Dumbledore's making had developed along the way, and Harry understood that had he been traveling alone he never could have reached this place so quickly. They had traveled much farther than the few miles it felt to Harry like they had paced on foot.

And now Harry was seated on a log, huddled around a magical campfire that his companion and mentor had set ablaze with a mere wave of his hand. And then, after telling Harry to remain where he was, to not fall asleep, and that he would not be gone for long, Dumbledore vanished.

And so, Harry waited.

It seemed to him like hours passed with him still seated on that log, warming his hands and feet by the magically tempered heat that radiated from Dumbledore's casual creation. Harry felt himself grow thirsty and tired, but he did not give in. The clearing had darkened and night was fully upon him, and he did not trust his surroundings. He did, however, trust that Dumbledore would not leave him alone unprotected in an old and strange wood.

Where they were headed, Harry wasn't exactly sure. It had been two months since his completion of his second year at Hogwarts. He had spent the days between then and now with Sirius back at Grimmauld Place, which had been deemed safe for residence after Dumbledore had completed a new set of rather complicated wards. Ron had visited several times over that span, and Harry had also managed to make a trip out to Ottery St. Catchpole and the Burrow, where the Weasleys had welcomed him with open arms. He would miss Ron, but Dumbledore had promised that the time would be there for periodic visits with friends and Sirius throughout their travels.

Their trip had begun from the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Sirius had left him with the professor at the Three Broomsticks, where they'd enjoyed a mug of butterbeer before leaving, Dumbledore suggesting that Harry might need the warmth later. He'd certainly been right about that. They had started walking through the brush and into what Harry had assumed was a bit of the forbidden forest, although now he was not so certain. It didn't look anything like what he'd seen of the forest from the outside, there was a small path but otherwise the trees were far closer to one another and there was precious little room to maneuver. And Harry had ended up here, in the clearing, waiting.

And still more hours came and went with no sign of the old man anywhere. Harry began to consider in his mind a number of possibilities, each more concerning than the last. His grip on his wand became tighter with each passing moment. But just when Harry finally started to think that he'd better start worrying about where he was going to spend the evening and what he was going to do after, Dumbledore reappeared with a snap, a small gleaming object clutched in his hand. With a benign smile the trinket disappeared into a pocket in the old man's robes.

Before Harry could speak, though, Dumbledore snapped his fingers and the fire vanished.

"Come, Harry," he said as if nothing had been amiss, "our evening's respite still lies a walk ahead of us. I trust you are well rested and refreshed from your break. We must be on our way."

Dumbledore turned and began to walk. With a light groan, Harry stood and followed in the old man's wake.

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The way was dark. That much hadn't changed.

It had been so many years, decades at the least, since Albus Dumbledore had last traversed this path, this way that he'd carved himself from the stone and earth. To his knowledge only one other man had ever been here, had ever seen this way. And he was gone.

Albus slowed for a moment as he took the steps down, down, down to the depths of a chamber created for a very singular purpose. It was the safe house. It was their bunker, a resource that any enemies would never know to account for. He had almost forgotten how much he'd sacrificed, how much he and Gellert had devoted to the creation of this place and the artifacts housed within. So many experiments left uncompleted, work into the very nature of magic itself that had gone abandoned. His practice in alchemy, working with the uses of dragon's blood, all had been accomplished here.

It had been so long.

The place had no name and many protections, but Albus still remembered and was able to pass down the seemingly endless staircase with a whispered word and a wave of his wand. The stairs truly were endless; if one didn't know their secret they would never reach the bottom, and turning around and heading back up was not an option, not until you reached the bottom. Once you began you could not stop and you could not rest.

The defenses had never been tested against an unwelcome foe, and Albus could not foresee a situation in which they would. That war was over. And he was alone with their past.

He was here for their masterpiece. For one completed device that had been untouched for fifty years. He smiled softly to himself. Had others known of this creation they would not have left this cave alone until it had been acquired. It was, in truth, dangerous for the average wizard.

But he smiled more widely, as he descended, at the thought that Harry Potter was no average wizard. And just as Albus had stumbled upon a way to enhance his own studies and experiences, so would Harry be able to experience the world and the magic within it in a way inconceivable to most.

The floor lay ahead of him as he took the last step down and tread upon the solid ground of the subterranean cave. He looked about at the wide room which remained exactly as he'd left it, several objects still littering the worktable that was tucked away in the far corner. The rest of the floor was bare, the walls sleek and solid to the touch.

It took him several minutes of running his fingers along the walls in order to find what he was looking for. With the tap of his wand and another password, a frame in the wall melted away, leaving a small pathway though the solid rock around him. Without pause, Albus took to the winding tunnel that took him on a journey through the rock and towards his prize.

But somewhere in the darkness through the stone and rock, a presence that had lay dormant for decades began to stir and awaken, shocked into awareness by the sheer magic that radiated from the man, the man who had been gone for so many years from the place from the shelter he had built.

But Dumbledore continued towards his prize.

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And soon enough, that familiar presence was gone. The old man came and went, only bent on one singular purpose; to retrieve the object that had rested at the heart of the labyrinth.

And the shadow had awoken.

With a soft rustle the shade took to the air, on the heels of the old man, the bond with the trinket clutched between his fingers enabling the being to feel the wizard's presence, his path back to the surface.

And now that there was light, the air was about him, the chance could not be missed. Through the maze and up the dimly lit stairway it flew, careful not to get too close. For if a certain perimeter was breached there would be no way to remain hidden from the man's enhanced senses.

And for a moment it was almost stunned as it tasted its first pseudo breath of fresh air in almost fifty years. There was no sun, for it was evening, after all, but that was of no matter. No matter at all.

Because finally there was hope. Hope in the invigorating breath of life and air and freedom.

And he was the reason. It was fitting, in a way.

And through the connection the shade traveled behind the old man and the boy who had joined him. Through many paths and journeys, across continents, they were followed. The trail would sometimes go cold as they jumped from one place to another, but the scent was never gone. They were carrying more than they knew, and they would never be alone while they did.

It would take time. But time, after fifty years lying dormant, was no obstacle. And so it remained.

Watching.

Waiting.

And following in their wake.

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**END**

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And so that's officially the end of this story. Look for the sequel (as of yet untitled) within the next few weeks, maybe three. Till then!


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